Angels Fall
by Cross77
Summary: When Grant Ward disappears from Stark Tower in the middle of the night, he makes his way to Starling City. Several surprises are in-store for him as his childhood friend, Oliver Queen, returns after being pronounced deceased. Meanwhile, the team conducts a search for their missing teammate. Season One AU of both Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Arrow.
1. Say Goodbye

**AN: This is an idea that was inspired by MarvelMatt's _Shadows of Starling_ , and refused to leave my mind. In this fanfiction, Hawkeye pulled Grant out of juvie, not Garrett. **

**Finally, I would just like to thank MarvelMatt himself for revising this and letting me use a few of his ideas.**

* * *

Grant sighed dejectedly as he laid on his bed, threading his fingers through his hair. He should be happy. Everyone else was. The team was at Avengers Tower for a few weeks to recover after dealing with the events of the Berserker Staff.

It was great to see his supervising officer, Clint Barton, again. They hadn't seen each other for almost half a year. Grant had been sent on mission after mission while Clint was busy dealing with Avenger' stuff. He was proud of his old friend, but he missed him like crazy. The older man's schedule was now so busy that he often didn't even call for weeks at a time.

Ward was glad to see that their friend – and Clint's partner – Natasha Romanoff was taking good care of the brunette archer. The first few days after they had arrived, the redheaded assassin had regaled him with tales involving the Avengers in action, as well as Clint's usual stubborn recklessness. Afterwards, Natasha would drift away to talk to May, as the two were old friends. Clint still hung out with his protégé from time to time, but he had returned to primarily relaxing with Tony Stark.

Bruce Banner was a nice guy, calm and collected. FitzSimmons had hit it off with the man almost instantly, to nobody's great surprise, and they were usually always in the lab. In fact, he'd only really see them at nighttime, when they'd be watching a movie or eating a late dinner, before the trio would rush off back to the lab with whatever it was they were working on.

Coulson had stuck to Rogers like glue, following his childhood idol everywhere he went. Rogers hadn't minded, glad that the man he respected was not, in fact, dead by Loki's hands. All in all, the Avengers took the news rather well. Banner had been the first to react, giving Phil a small smile and walking to the labs to gather his thoughts. Rogers had shook the man's hand while Stark cursed the older agent out. Clint had threatened to use him as target practice if the level eight field agent ever pulled that stunt again. Natasha actually hit the man, which Ward thought was quite entertaining, before pulling him into a hug. Thor was off world, which was probably a good thing, because he might have accidentally crushed Phil's spine in a bear hug.

He had actually been looking forward to spending some time with his Rookie at the tower. In a move that surprised him, she started following Rogers around just as much as Coulson. Which meant, for the past week and a half, he had pretty much been all by himself. _Yay!_

Oh no, that wasn't even the worst part. The only thing Skye would talk about during training, which was the only time anyone on his team seemed to interact with him nowadays, was the blonde super-soldier. _His biceps this, his firm chest that. Hey, don't forget his super sexy perfect face or his amazing blue eyes._ He huffed to himself, pissed and admittedly jealous at her obvious attraction to the captain. And apparently the bastard had a crush on her too, as evidenced by the talks he had overheard the blonde having with the other members of the Avengers. Even Romanoff and Barton were rooting for him. But…they didn't know Grant harbored feelings for his rookie. _"Peggy's married already, Steve". "You deserve to be happy, Steve". "Go for_ _it,_ _Steve"._ Then, just tonight, she had fucking kissed Rogers. A full on kiss to the lips! And the man had kissed her back! Right in the middle of the god damn living room! And guess where everyone else was while he sulked over his very complicated feelings in his room? They were celebrating! Over a freaking kiss! Then again, it was Stark's idea, and the billionaire was all about going overboard.

In all honesty, he had no idea how he felt. He wasn't happy, that much he could tell. He was frustrated at himself for not at least trying to make a move sooner. He was upset that she liked someone that wasn't him, because he thought they really had something special. He was pissed off at Rogers for being well…himself. And he was kind of saddened by the fact that nobody bothered to check on him. He felt useless and unwanted, he realized. It was something that he'd felt every day during his childhood, unable to help his younger brother and beaten by his family. When Clint pulled his ass out of juvie, he had finally felt part of something great. Now, in a mere almost two weeks' time, the feeling of inclusiveness had practically evaporated. He didn't know what to do.

But, he knew he couldn't stay here.

He knew he had to leave to clear his thoughts, to make sure he didn't get in the way of anybody. Nobody wanted him around anyway; he was obviously just a dead weight. A weapon to be utilized during war and discarded during times of peace.

This was his chance.

He rolled off the bed, landing heavily on his feet. Reaching underneath his bed, he pulled out his black duffel bag and began the process of packing. First, he folded his clothes perfectly, not a wrinkle to be seen. It was something engrained in him, the need for everything to be neat. Plus, it was something so familiar to him that he found it comforting. He didn't have much in the ways of personal possessions, just a few pictures of the team and of him with Natasha and Clint. Briefly, he considered leaving them there, but decided against it. Better to take them than possibly regret leaving them later.

He grabbed his phone, and pried off the back. Removing the SIM card, he crushed it it in his hand. The destroyed bits and pieces fell to the ground around him. Next, he reached underneath his pillow to grab his SIG Sauer and ammo magazines. He checked the clip in the pistol before tugging it into the waistband of his black jeans. Placing the magazines in his bag, he finished packing and zipped the duffel closed, before he pulled on a black hoodie and black gloves.

Taking one last look at his now pretty much empty room, he closed the door behind him and walked at a brisk pace to the elevators. He passed the common area, where he could hear everyone else. He glanced in quickly. Natasha and Clint were in the middle of a drinking challenge at the bar. Jemma, Fitz, and Bruce were playing Scramble at the kitchen table. May sat on the balcony reading a book. Tony was talking to Dum-E. Coulson, Rogers, and Skye were talking in a corner of the room, a smile evident on each of their faces.

 _They don't even notice I'm not there._

He nodded to himself, the sinking feeling in his stomach refusing to leave, and continued on his way down the hall. He passed by Clint's archery range and paused, entering quickly to take an Oneida Kestrel, quiver, and arrows. Archery was something that Grant loved to do, thanks in no small part to his supervising officer's own love for it, so he decided he might as well take the weapon. When he stepped into the elevator minutes later, with his head down and pressed the button for the ground floor, he jumped at the voice of Stark's A.I.

"Mr. Ward, why do you have a duffel bag?" questioned the British intelligence.

Thinking quickly, he lied, "I'm going out to return some things, Jarvis. I didn't have any regular bags so I just grabbed this."

"I see. Be careful, it is not wise to be out so late. Would you like me to notify Master Stark of your departure?"

"No," said Grant swiftly. "Let them enjoy their party. I'll only be out for a few hours, so let them relax."

"As you wish."

There was no point in telling the artificial intelligence the true nature of his exit and asking it to keep a secret. Because if Tony asked, the machines loyalty was to him, not to Grant. He was trying to figure out ways to hide his departure for longer when someone behind him cleared their throat. He whirled around, his hand flying to his gun, before he saw who it was.

Pepper Potts.

The woman gave him a sad smile, before she stepped out of the elevator ahead of him, pausing to place a kiss on his cheek, like an aunt saying goodbye.

 _Pepper always knows._

The second he stepped out of the tower, the cool night's air whipped across his face, ruffling his hair. He sighed deeply, pulling his hood up. He walked down the street, carefully observing his surroundings for any disturbances. When he reached a grocery store parking lot, he climbed into an old SUV and began to hotwire it. He had to make a lot of headway to ensure the team wouldn't find him as he navigated towards his destination. He mentally calculated the time, deciding that the team would first get suspicious around ten in the morning, if they even bothered to look for him. If he was right, Skye would be the one to knock on his bunk, probably to ask if she could train with Rogers. When he didn't answer, she'd probably shrug it off until dinner time, when everyone was supposed to be present.

Shaking the conjured images from his head, he began the trek to Starling City.

It was time to go home.


	2. Welcome to Starling City

**AN: First of all, I'd just like to say thank you to the reviews. Man, this story is fun to write.**

 **Alkeni: Glad you're interested :)**

 **MarvelMatt: No problem, man! Thank you for all of your help!**

 **Highlander348: You'll have to see! Let's just say they'll be seeing each other soon.**

* * *

 _Welcome to Starling City_ , read the sign as Grant passed by it.

His plan was fairly straightforward. He had enough money to get by for a decent amount of time, but he'd eventually need a job. He'd heard a small burger joint named Big Belly Burger was hiring, so he was going to look into that when the need arised. Since S.H.I.E.L.D. knew all of his aliases, he had to reinvent himself on the way to the city. He was no longer Grant Ward in every sense of the name.

His hair was a dark blonde and he'd taken to wearing black aviators, as well as a black hoodie and black gloves. He knew he might look slightly suspicious to some, but there was no way in hell he was parting with his affinity for all things black and leather.

His new name was Tony Masters, a man with several high degrees in varying subjects, as well as an ex-military background. Originally from Arizona, he had moved to Starling City to pursue a career in business.

Grant wasn't sure how that was going to work out, especially because his only idea for a job so far was a damn burger joint.

 _One step at a time_ , he told himself. _Just find a place to stay right now._

One thing was for sure, he was not going to abandon the values he'd learned from S.H.I.E.L.D. _Protect the innocent_ , whispered the voice in his head. So, that's what he was going to do. He just had no idea how yet.

He parked outside a relatively nice hotel building called Windhaven. It wasn't huge, but it had a few suite balconies on the highest floor that levelled off with the roofs of other buildings in the area. It was perfect for him.

He entered the lounge, heading straight to the desk. "Can I get a suite on the highest floor please?"

The woman behind the desk, a pretty, although rather thin, strawberry blonde, smiled sweetly at him. "It's not very cheap."

Ward smiled inwardly. If it was money she wanted, money he could give. He pulled out a decent sized wad of cash from his pocket, not enough to put a dent in his funds though. Slipping it across the counter, he said, "This should cover me for about a month, yeah?"

"Well then, hotshot," she giggled, handing him a room key. "Room 6C for Mister…?"

"Masters," replied Ward, "Tony Masters."

"Well, Mister Masters, enjoy your stay. My name's Hayley. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you, Hayley."

He gave her a small wave as a goodbye and ascended the stairs, clutching his duffel bag tightly. Reaching the sixth floor, he walked through the hallway, listening for the sounds of his neighbors. He heard the soft noise of off-key singing in one room and what sounded like the low volume of a movie in another. Good, the people on this floor liked to remain quiet.

Opening the door to his suite, he examined the room. A small kitchen in the right corner that he could work with, cabinets already stocked with delicacies and a few basics. A dark wood dining table with plush white chairs was off to the side of a soft, comfortable couch. The couch was flanked immediately on the right and left by two black leather reclining chairs. A coffee table was in the middle of the three pieces of furniture, in front of an already crackling fireplace. On top of the fireplace was a fifty-five inch screen television built into the wall.

Entering his bedroom, he found a king-sized bed with white duvet sheets and several pillows leaning against the headboard. Next to it was a small nightstand with a lamp on it. In the corner opposite the doors opening to the balcony was an oak desk with a computer already running.

Setting his bag down on the bed, he opened the double glass doors leading to the balcony. A small smile crept its way onto his face at the sight of not only a complete set of patio furniture, but a good-sized hot tub as well. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

When he re-entered his bedroom, he paused when his eyes caught sight of a newspaper on the desk. _I must have missed this._ He walked over and picked it up, flicking through it.

The answer to how he was going to protect people was right in front of his face.

And it came in the form of his childhood friend, Dinah Laurel Lance.

 _Laurel Lance, a lawyer from CNRI, a law firm located in the Glades, is currently pursuing criminal charges against businessman Adam Hunt._

For the first time in a week and a half, a wide grin crawled its way onto his face. _Dinah Laurel Lance. Laurel Lance. Laurel._ Something akin to happiness seized his heart because, fuck, he hadn't seen her since before he left for military school all those years ago. He remembered everything about his best friend. Her curly brown hair that fell to the middle of her back. Her smile that stretched her face in such a way that some kids made fun of her, but her friends loved. Her brown eyes twinkling with joy and a bubbly personality. She'd wanted to be a lawyer since they hit ten years old, and she'd done it. He wished he had been there to congratulate her.

When he flipped on the television a few minutes later, he got another surprise.

An African American reporter stood in front of Saint Dumas hospital, speaking animatedly. He read the large white letters that appeared on the screen. _Billionaire playboy Oliver Queen is alive_ , he said to himself. His eyes widened at the name of the friend who he thought was deceased. He turned up the volume, eager to hear more.

"Oliver Queen, son of Robert and Moira Queen, was found alive after five years surviving on an unknown island in the North China Sea. Currently, he is being treated for injuries as the city prepares to welcome him home." _Oh my god, he's alive!_ He had heard about the tragic death of his only male friend from childhood. The Queen's Gambit had been caught in a storm and reportedly sunk, leaving no survivors. _But if Oliver survived, does that mean Sara-_ "Mr. Queen states that he is the only known survivor of the incident."

His fists clenched by his side as he stared at the screen, smile faltering. Sara was Laurel's sister, and the first person he had ever had feelings for. The platinum blonde was a sight to behold, her wavy curls falling slightly past her shoulders. Grant remembered her smile being the brightest and best thing in the room. She had never been one for education, unlike her sister. He was better friends with Laurel than he was with Sara, but that was mainly because the blonde twin had always had a thing for Oliver.

 _Well, now I have a few options._

He was definitely going to be checking in on his two friends, probably from afar because it would get risky if they knew he was there.

 _But first, let's get down to business._

If he was going to fight a war against crime, he needed a uniform.

* * *

"Grant?" called Skye, knocking on the door to his bunk.

She frowned when she received no answer, tucking her hair behind her ear. When she had woken up that morning, she had stretched and ate breakfast like always before pulling on a white t-shirt and blue leggings. Steve had offered to train her that morning, but Skye had refused, wanting to talk to Grant. So, she had been eager to make her way to the gym on-time, only to find it empty. She had waited roughly thirty minutes before giving up and going to his bunk, where she now stood. Something was wrong. She could feel it. Grant was never a second late, let alone a half hour. "Grant, you in there? You missed the party last night and I wanted to talk to you."

She sighed in defeat when she got no response. He was either in a very deep sleep, which seemed unlikely since he was always alert, ignoring her, or out at the moment.

Pepper walked by her, dressed in a gray suit, and clutching a computer to her chest. The older woman looked exhausted, a crestfallen look on her usually happy face.

"Hey, Pepps," she greeted, flashing a smile. Pepper gave her a small, seemingly forced smile that had Skye close to frowning. _What's wrong with her?_ "Have you seen Grant?"

"Grant? Uh…no. I haven't," replied Pepper before turning around.

Skye's frown deepened. _Wow, definitely upset about something._ "You okay?"

"Fine," said the older woman sharply. "I need to go."

 _Okay, something's definitely wrong here._

* * *

She didn't find out exactly what was wrong until dinnertime that night. Everyone was in the lounge waiting for Grant. They ate dinner together four times a week and everyone was supposed to attend. There were no exceptions, unless somebody was injured. May was reclining in a chair, reading a book called _Unwind_ or something like that. She didn't understand the older woman's interest in it. The book was about three kids who were scheduled to be unwound –which apparently meant having their body parts harvested for later use – but escaped. _Disturbing, if you ask me._ Coulson had a worried look on his face, eyebrows creased. Jemma, Fitz, and Bruce were talking science mumbo-jumbo. Steve sat next to her on the couch, a small smile on his face. Clint and Natasha were telling each other sexual jokes while the archer twirled a drumstick between his fingers. Pepper sat silently in the corner, her gaze locked on the floor, which Skye still found odd.

And then there was Tony, impatient as ever. "Where is he?" huffed the billionaire. "He's been keeping us waiting forever."

Finally, Clint turned his attention away from Natasha. "I'll go see if he's in his room."

Natasha stood up to follow him.

Contemplating for a split-second, she stood up as well. "I'll come with you," she told the two assassins.

They nodded.

Skye didn't miss Pepper's slightly panicked look.

* * *

"Grant Douglas Ward, open this door right now!" demanded Clint, banging his fist against the locked door.

When they got no answer again, worry began to creep its way through Skye's thoughts. He should have been back already. Where the hell was her supervising officer? JARVIS had informed them that Grant wasn't in any of his usual places around the tower, so they had figured he would be in his room.

That didn't look like the case.

"JARVIS," said Natasha, "override the lock."

The artificial intelligence took a moment before responding, "I'm sorry, Ms. Romanoff, I cannot do that."

"Why not?" asked the redhead, her calm tone slipping into one of incredulity.

"I have not been authorized to perform such an action."

"Who gave you the order?" questioned Clint.

"Mrs. Potts," answered the British A.I.

"JARVIS, open the door," commanded Tony, who entered the hallway and walked toward the room.

"But, sir, Mrs. Potts-"

"Her orders do not supersede my own," cut off the billionaire. "Now unlock the damn door."

"As you wish," responded JARVIS.

A click was heard as the code for the door was entered. Clint pulled the door open and they were met with a surprising sight.

The room was empty.

The remnants of what Skye identified as a SIM card were scattered across the floor.

All of Grant's personal possessions were gone except for one.

His level seven Specialist badge rested atop the nightstand.


	3. The Taskmaster

**AN: I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter. By the way, last chapter I mentioned that hospital that Oliver was at was called Saint Dumas. In truth, I really have no idea what it's called on the show, but I threw that in there as a reference to the DC character Azrael.**

* * *

"He's gone!" cried Tony, voice high-pitched as he paced circles around the Holotable in Stark Tower's mission room.

Skye leaned against a wall, a seemingly permanent frown etched on her face. Her friend and supervising officer had up and vanished on them. For the life of her, she couldn't understand it. Ward had never seemed like the lonely type. He was usually uptight and she always thought that he preferred being alone, just like May. Then again, maybe she didn't know as much about him as she had thought.

She watched as Coulson stared at the blank screen the Holotable showed them.

Well, it wasn't a blank screen. But, it wasn't what they were hoping for.

 _Footage erased_ , it projected at them.

 _Great,_ she thought in frustration, _somebody erased what might have been a lead to his location._

And she was fairly certain she knew just who did it.

She glanced at Pepper Potts, who stood in silence by the doorway, eyes downcast.

Finally, Skye had enough of the silence. "You know why he left, don't you?"

The older woman jumped at the question, gazing at Skye nervously.

Frustration at the other woman, worry for Ward, confusion at the entire situation, and slight anger at the fact that this happened right after she finally kissed Rogers, all collided in Skye's mind. She took a step forward, causing the older woman to step back.

Clint shot Skye a scowl and moved to the other woman's defense, gently tugging her out of the room, Natasha trailing behind the pair.

"Well," said Fitz, finally speaking up, "this is utter bollocks."

* * *

Clint and Natasha set Pepper down on a couch in the living room, handing her a bottle of water.

The strawberry blonde gave them a grateful look before taking a long sip.

Natasha remained silent, staring down at the other woman in thought.

Seeing that his partner would not speak up anytime soon, he took it upon himself to start talking. "He left because of the Steve and Skye thing, right? Because he felt like he was being replaced? Because he felt like Skye thought Steve was better than him?" Finally, he added in a tired voice, "And…because nobody really spent time with him? Including me."

Pepper glanced up at him, nodding sadly as she took another sip.

Clint sighed, frustrated at himself. This was partly his fault. His rookie was never the most mentally stable to begin with, and while he had managed to reign in the younger man's hatred, he had never managed to distill the sense of detachment and loneliness.

He glanced at Natasha to find her watching him intently, arms crossed and waiting for his next move.

"We need to find him," declared Clint, leaving no room for argument.

The redheaded assassin nodded her agreement, unfolding her arms.

"What about the others?" asked Pepper.

"He doesn't need a big search party, especially when the first thing the others will try to do is get him to come back without listening to what he has to say."

"So, we go after him ourselves?"

This time, Natasha answered. "That's exactly what we're going to do."

* * *

A few days later, when his vigilante outfit was finished, Grant gave a small sigh of relief. He stared down at his handiwork, pride flashing through him. It wasn't bright and bubbly. _And stupid,_ he thought to himself. _Like Captain America's._ No, it was dark and menacing, just like him. _And if Skye doesn't want that,_ he kept telling himself, _then I don't care._ The suit itself wasn't too special. It was a black leather material with a bulletproof vest weaved into the fabric. A lowered hood would add to the mysterious look.

However, his favorite part was the sleek, black, metal skull mask he had personally designed. The eyes were one-way, so he could see out of the dark black, but nobody could see through it. The mouth of the mask had an eerie robotic smile built in. He really couldn't be more pleased with the results.

Rounding off his weaponry were flechettes strapped to his waist and lower left leg. Two cylinder leather containers held his escrima sticks. His quiver was filled with several arrows, including lethal, electric, and grappling. He had borrowed some of Clint's technology to create the arrows, as well as the holsters and quiver for his weapons. He utilized Clint's special design where the weaponry remained locked in place unless he touched the object. When he did, the mechanism instantly unlocked, allowing him to pull it out and use it in a fight. It was quite handy, especially to ensure that he wouldn't lose any arrows while running across rooftops.

He was finally ready to go after Adam Hunt.

But first, he had a few old friends to visit.

* * *

Sneaking inside a party, any party, had always been easy for Grant, even before he learned from the two best spies in the world.

Sneaking into Oliver Queen's welcome home bash proved slightly more difficult than he had thought.

Then again, just like his younger brother always said, the Queens' had more security than the President. He was beginning to think that it wasn't as much of an exaggeration as it seemed.

After a while of scouting the place, he managed to slip inside. He stuck to the upper levels, music and the sounds of party-goers ringing in his ears. He knew he probably should be enjoying this, maybe blending in with the crowd as he observed his friends, but he found that he couldn't bring himself to even step anywhere near the dance floor. The obnoxiously insistent pop music reminded him of Skye's own music on the Bus. The dancers, although many of them wearing inadequate clothing, also reminded him of his rookie. The way they shuffled, the way their hips swayed, the way their heads bopped.

He shook himself out of his revere when he spotted a seemingly familiar person. His eyes narrowed at the man in his mid-twenties in an expensive black suit, black hair spiked. The broad smile seemed so familiar, especially when he saw that it was directed toward Laurel.

He took an involuntary step forward.

His new phone buzzed in his pocket. Frowning, he pulled it out.

 _10:00 P.M._

 _Showtime._

Casting one last curious glance at the person, and deciding to investigate more later, he briskly exited the party.

* * *

Entering through the roof's skylight, his mind burst into overdrive when he saw submachine guns in the hands of a small private army. They were expecting him. _But how?_ He fired two arrows in succession, dropping the two closest to him before retreating behind a pillar for protection. It was minimal and temporary, especially because he was now trapped until he dealt with several more assailants, but at least his head hadn't been blown off yet.

Despite every complicated thing that had happened recently, he wasn't quite willing to part with his brain, thank you very much!

When the first man stepped toward his cover, he lashed out, grabbing him by the throat and using him as a human shield as his friend opened fire. He dropped the lifeless body to the ground, fingers instantly wrapping around another arrow. He let it fly and connect with another man's chest.

He remained concentrated as he continued to tear through his remaining attackers in the hallway. Just when he thought things were beginning to dwindle, a window shattered near him as a green hooded figure rolled swiftly to his feet, bow in hand. His eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed the similarities in their uniforms.

 _Hey, I copyrighted this!_

The two men's gazes seemed to lock with each other momentarily before they moved, deciding that the remaining people with guns were more important to deal with.

Within seconds the remaining opponents were either battered from devastating attacks or limp with arrows sticking out of their flesh.

He took off running, heading toward Hunt's main office. When he burst in, he was met with a surprising sight. A blonde in a black leather cat-suit was fighting a Russian man, obviously a personal bodyguard, with a Bo Staff. He analyzed her quickly, taking in her fighting style. She moved with a fluidity that rivaled May's, twirling around her opponent and using the man's momentum to her advantage.

Turning back to face Adam Hunt, he found the dark green archer was already on him.

"You missed," smirked the bald businessman.

"Really?" growled the green archer.

Grant's gaze moved to the wall, which had an arrow protruding from it. If he was right, and he was pretty sure he was, it was a unique arrow, just like the ones he owned. But this one could probably hack into the businessman's personal accounts and siphon money.

 _Smart._

Glancing back at the blonde, he saw her opponent on the ground, neck snapped. She was nowhere to be seen. He sighed, his job having already been done for him, and retreated to the rooftop.

 _First day as a vigilante…failed._

Well, it wasn't an entire bust. He'd assisted in taking down the massive private army that Hunt possessed, but he had been beaten to the man himself. And that irked him.

 _Just who the hell were these people?_

As he walked to the edge of the rooftop, he froze when he felt the silent presence of two people behind him. Whirling around while simultaneously drawing an arrow, he faced his two assailants.

The man in dark green was on one side of the rooftop, arrow aimed and switching between him and the woman in black, who stood there calmly.

"Nice get-up," commented the woman. "You guys go to the same tailor or something?"

"Who are you?" growled the green archer.

He glanced between the two of them.

The woman was definitely highly skilled in hand to hand, but he was willing to bet that his other attacker was too. Her melee weapon was medium range, so he couldn't turn his back on her and focus on the other marksman. He was going to have to engage them both in close quarters because he really didn't want to end up getting shot or hit in the back.

Considering his response, he remained attentive. What should he be called? Suddenly, his realization from earlier hit him. He was only a weapon to S.H.I.E.L.D., not a person. A weapon that was very, very good at completing missions.

After several moments of silence, he snarled his answer, "The Taskmaster."

And then they were fighting.

He brought his arm up to block a strike from the man, while twisting to the side to avoid a strike to the torso from the woman's Bo Staff. Not even seconds in and he realized this was going to be more difficult than he had originally calculated. Lashing out with a kick, the man in green deflected it before counterattacking with an elbow. He caught it and shoved the man to the side before being met with a kick to the ribs courtesy of the blonde.

Using the split second her leg was lowering back to the ground against her, he swept her other leg from underneath her. He advanced but was stopped when he was tackled to the side. Rolling toward the edge of the rooftop, he managed to connect a punch to his hooded opponent's jaw. The man quickly returned the favor by slamming his elbow into Ward's side. Using his bow, he jabbed the assailant in the side. The man shifted slightly to the right and Grant used the momentum to flip the guy off of him. He stood to his feet and barely had time to duck the metal staff swinging for his head.

Gritting his teeth, he analyzed his chances. He could stay and fight or he could retreat. They were all on an equal level, which unnerved him slightly. Were they ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents? If not, where did they get their training?

The three of them closed in on each other.

When the metal staff connected with the green archer's stomach, who in turn nailed Grant in the face with his bow, the former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had enough. He reached forward and grasped at the woman's face. At the same time, she reached for the green archer, who reached for him.

And suddenly the green archer's hood was pulled down, the woman's disguise came undone, and his skull mask fell to the floor with a resounding thud.

And then, there was silence as they took each other in. Utter disbelief and shock registered on each of their faces, even Grant's calm expression slipping.

Finally, the woman spoke up. "Well…this is fucking awkward."

* * *

 **AN: So, we've got two sets of people looking for Ward now. Ward also seems to recognize someone from Oliver's party, but who could it be? Also, who the heck is this blonde woman?**

 **Well...if you watch Arrow, you probably already know, haha.**


	4. Shadows of the Past

**AN: I got a surprising amount of reviews last chapter, for which I am very grateful. Let's start with a response to a few of them.**

 **Shadowwolf2734: Glad to see you are enjoying it and think it has great potential! Keep reading to see the pairing for yourself!**

 **Stand with Ward and Salvatore: Read and you shall see the pairing/s. Even I'm not 100% sure how they'll all end up.**

 **Highlander348: Thank you for this question. For those who are confused, this is AU season one. So Black Canary is apart of this AU from early on.**

 **Flmatheus: I'm not planning on abandoning these, so no need to worry. And thank you so much!**

 **Thank you to both MarvelMatt and Alkeni for the kind words/feedback.**

* * *

 _Sara. Oliver. Sara. Oliver. Sara. Oliver._

His mind was running at maximum capacity as he took in the two individuals before him.

Oliver Queen, his childhood friend who had literally just returned to Starling, was a vigilante.

Sara Lance, his childhood crush who was supposed to be fucking dead, was a vigilante.

Was Laurel a vigilante too? Fighting in a courtroom by day, torturing bad guys with education by night?

Oliver looked hesitant, eyeing them cautiously as he lowered his bow.

Sara looked completely relaxed and at home now, talking animatedly. "Of course you guys basically have the same exact outfit. You were pretty much copycats when we were younger." She waved in Ward's direction. "But since when did you learn how to use a bow?"

He opened his mouth to speak but, at that moment, their reunion was broken up by a familiar voice.

"SCPD! Hands in the air!" cried Quentin Lance.

 _Ah, how I've missed Laurel's dad_ , he thought sarcastically. Quentin Lance didn't hate Grant per se. No, he reserved his hatred for Oliver, the billionaire playboy who he deemed no good for his little girl. And then, not only did Lance find out that Oliver was screwing Sara behind Laurel's back, but his daughter supposedly died while doing it. _I bet he's having a field day with Oliver's return._

Footsteps echoed on the level below them. Grant inwardly cursed. Just a few more seconds and the rooftop would be filled with Starling City police officers.

Giving his two friends one last glance, he scooped up his mask, pulled it on, and…

Rolled right off the roof.

A smirk graced his lips as he twisted in mid-air, firing a grappling arrow at a nearby building. He watched as the arrow embedded itself in the side of the structure. Pulling the line taut, he swung and disappeared into the night.

* * *

Pulling a short-sleeved white shirt over his head, Grant collapsed on his bed in a heap. He grasped blindly for a pillow, burying his head in it once he found the soft object. He drew the covers up to his waist and switched positions, laying on his side. He stifled a groan when his bruised ribs protested the movement. He moved back to laying on his back, cursing himself as he did so. Shit, his friends hit hard.

Several minutes later, he found that he could not sleep for the life of him. All he could think about was how the fuck he was going to find Sara again. He knew where Oliver lived, but if the billionaire had told everyone that Sara was dead, then her family had no idea where she was. There was always the chance that they would run into each other again during their nightly escapades, but how long would that be? Starling City was massive and he had no idea how to begin tracking her.

His last thought, which really should have been his first, was how they figured out it was him. His hair was blonde now and he had the beginnings of a matching beard to go with it.

When he heard a pounding at his door, he checked the clock.

 _2:42_

Sighing, he carefully got out of bed to avoid further injury and made his way to the door. Checking through the peephole, he saw Sara standing outside and wearing a red hoodie and black jeans. She tapped her feet impatiently. The second he opened the door, Sara stepped inside and plopped down on the nearest couch.

He raised an eyebrow. "Hello to you too."

She scoffed, rolling her eyes at him. "Tony Masters, really?"

Shutting the door, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "Don't ridicule me. I was short on time. And Tony Masters is a cool name."

"Yeah, whatever you say, dumbass."

He shot her a playful glare. "Hey, I did better than you in school. In every single subject."

"School wasn't my entire life," she shot back.

 _No, your entire life was screwing Oliver,_ he thought bitterly.

Instead, he changed the subject. "How the hell did you even figure me out?"

Sara laughed. "Your new identity works pretty well. In fact, I probably wouldn't have been able to figure out it was you if I saw a picture and it hadn't been face to face. Plus, we've been friends since we were kids. We know each other like the back of our hands."

He nodded, choosing to remain silent as he made his way into the living room and sat down in a chair to the left of her.

After several moments of silence, she continued. "So…who're you running from?"

He looked away, having an internal debate on whether or not to tell her. Did she know that S.H.I.E.L.D. existed? He was willing to bet she did. And she had always been trustworthy during their childhood, ignoring the fact that she was screwing her sister's boyfriend behind her back.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. I couldn't stay with them any longer," he stated after several moments of silence. It wasn't the full truth, but it wasn't a lie either.

"You were a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent?"

"Yeah, they broke me out of juvie and offered me a position."

"Are you ever going to let them know where you are?" she asked, glancing up at him.

After a slight hesitation, he shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. I don't want them to find me yet, but I don't want to leave them wondering forever. And if luck isn't on my side, they'll probably find me sooner than I want them to."

 _My supervising officer and his best friend are two of the most stubborn people I've ever known. Plus, they've got two genius hackers on their side._

 _And one of them chose Captain America over you_ , reminded a tiny voice in the back of his mind.

"So, since it's really fucking late, can I stay here the night?"

Maybe it was the look she gave him as she said it, or the suggestively teasing tone in her voice, but his mouth went dry. He nodded.

"I'll take the couch," he said, voice cracking slightly.

She smirked, walking toward the bedroom door, swaying her hips. "Night."

And he really should have been embarrassed, because he could not take his eyes off her. _But she's not Skye,_ he reminded himself. "Goodnight."

* * *

The next morning found Grant alone in his suite. Sara was gone but had left a note containing Oliver's address as well as a warning.

 _Get ready for some big surprises._

What the hell did that even mean?

* * *

Clint skimmed the S.H.I.E.L.D. document that he had intercepted on its way to Coulson.

"What's it say?" asked Natasha, who was at the table eating a bowl of cereal.

Pepper sat next to her, a slightly more relaxed look on her face than a few days ago, and a cup of coffee in hand.

"Multi-billionaire Adam Hunt was assaulted by unknown assailants. Six members of Hunt's private army were found dead at the scene, with over thirty others injured. Among the injuries were broken arms, fractured sternums, and…arrow wounds," read Clint aloud.

He mulled over the possibilities. It could be Grant, but that didn't necessarily mean it was. There were other people skilled in archery and, since no video evidence was found, Clint had no idea how whoever inflicted those wounds operated. Even if it wasn't Grant, S.H.I.E.L.D. would want to investigate, assess, and possibly recruit this new player. This was the perfect opportunity to continue the search while assisting the organization he worked for.

Folding the paper and slipping it into his pocket, he smiled. "Ladies, pack your things. We've got a vigilante to catch."

* * *

 **AN: Next chapter is going to probably be a lot bigger and will most likely solely focus on Grant.**

 **Also, I will be removing two of my fanfics, _Juggernaut_ and _Fire In Your Heart,_ within the next few days. However, I will be posting them on Archive Of Our Own once I set up an account. If you have further questions as to why, please shoot me a PM as I don't really want to discuss it in this author's note. Once I have created an account on Archive, I will put a link to it in my bio. **

**Hope you guys and girls enjoyed!**


	5. Honor Thy Father

**In regards to reviews,**

 **Highlander348: We'll have to wait and see if they become a couple, won't we? :)**

 **Shadowwolf2734: Thanks!**

 **DarkAssasin666: Glad you're addicted! It means I'm doing something right!**

 **KathPetrovaDiary: Yeah, I had a feeling you'd like it. I'm so glad you like everything so far.**

 **I hope you guys and girls enjoy this! It took me longer than I thought to write, but I loved writing this so much!**

* * *

"State your business, please," requested an African-American who wore a professional-looking black suit.

"My name's Tony Masters. I'm here to see Oliver Queen."

The man nodded before opening the arching gate that led to the Queen Mansion. "Ah, Mr. Queen's been expecting you." When Grant stepped through the gateway, the man spoke again. "Before you go farther, I have to ask that you remove any weaponry that you may be carrying on your person."

Nodding, Grant unclipped his Benchmade Griptilian from the back of his jeans. Since he wasn't going into dangerous territory, he didn't need to bring his full arsenal. Still, something as simple as a pocket knife could always be useful in public scenarios.

He handed the weapon to the security guard, who pocketed it before motioning for Grant to extend his arms diagonally. He did as he was instructed and waited for the other man to finish patting him down.

The man gave a nod of satisfaction before extending his hand. "John Diggle."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Diggle."

"Likewise, Mr. Masters," said John before motioning in the direction of the mansion. "Follow me."

Stepping into a comfortable walking speed next to John, he spoke up. "Ex-military?"

"Yes sir, out of Kandahar. I'm retired. Been in the private sector for a little more than four years. Mrs. Queen recently hired me to protect Oliver."

He withheld a snort. Even if Oliver needed protection, there was no way Mr. Diggle could keep the billionaire in his sights. Oliver had a knack for sneaking off and doing things he wasn't supposed to. _Like sneaking around with Sara while he was dating Laurel._ Grant tried to shake the thought from his mind. He shouldn't be so upset over that. He didn't get to control other people's lives. And he should be happier. Oliver and Sara were both back. _But what if they still love each other?_

Before his thoughts could go any farther, Diggle opened the door and Grant stepped into the expansive entryway. His eyes caught sight of the small, round table in the middle of the room. Examining the pictures, he saw ones of Oliver, Moira, Laurel, and a teenaged girl who looked vaguely familiar. Her eyes and hair, which fell slightly past her shoulders, were a dark brown. His eyes narrowed when he inspected her facial structure, especially her jawline. The features looked very similar to…his own?

At that moment, Oliver descended the staircase in a long-sleeved green t-shirt and blue jeans. His childhood friend gave a small smile. "Thank you, Digg."

Diggle nodded before exiting the house, making his way back to the front gate.

Oliver cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets. "So, uh, this is kind of awkward."

Grant let out a small laugh, rocking on the balls of his feet. "Yeah…this is. Did you know that Sara was…alive?" he asked tentatively.

His friend glanced at the ground before meeting Grant's gaze. "No, I thought she was dead."

He couldn't detect that his friend was lying, so he nodded in acceptance. It was uncomfortable being so close to Oliver. They used to be such good friends at some point. But, even though he had no right, he still felt betrayed by his friend. Oliver had been sleeping around with Sara since they were fifteen, but it still bothered him.

"So," he lowered his voice, "vigilante, huh?"

Oliver nodded, motioning toward the mansion's large backyard. "I have to show you something."

* * *

After successfully avoiding Mr. Diggle and leaving the mansion, Grant found himself at an abandoned warehouse owned by Queen Industries. He scaled the tall, metal gate alongside Oliver, landing gracefully on his feet. Pulling open the door, he followed his blonde friend inside. The place was stripped clean. He didn't get what was so important until Oliver pressed a button on a tiny remote. A section of the floor in the back corner slid open, revealing the dark outline of a staircase. They descended.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Oliver pulled a switch, illuminating the room. Rows of regular and trick arrows lined desks and shelves. In the center of the room was a large metal desk with a wide computer monitor atop it. A salmon ladder and several other pull up bars were in one corner of the room with mats and training dummies in another.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath.

"Bet you don't have anything like this," smirked Oliver.

"No, nothing like this. I keep my shit underneath my bed."

"Move your gear here as soon as you can. In the meantime, we have other issues," said Oliver, his voice turning serious.

Grant raised an eyebrow. "We?" Was his friend seriously suggesting they work together? Then again, he should probably take this as an opportunity. He wanted to help the city but he had no idea what to do. He had stumbled upon the article involving Adam Hunt by accident.

"Yes, we. His name is Martin Somers. He works closely with the Chinese Triad and runs Starling City's port. Laurel is attempting to have him prosecuted for the murder of Victor Nocenti." Oliver handed him a small, brown notebook. "He's also on my father's list."

"Your father's list?" he questioned, flipping through the thick book.

"I found that on his corpse after he died." Grant could tell that wasn't the whole truth, but he stayed silent. "It's a list of names of corrupt or dangerous people who have wronged or endangered this city. It's my job to bring them crumbling down."

"Wait…I know some of these."

"You do?" asked Oliver, his eyebrows scrunching.

Grant nodded. "Yeah. Frank Castle, Carl Creel…some of these names are on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most wanted list."

"S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

Sighing, he realized that he hadn't told his childhood friend about the organization he used to work for. "You know when my parents had me moved to a Juvenile Detention Center in Massachusetts?"

Oliver snorted. "How could I forget?"

"Well, a member of a government organization known as S.H.I.E.L.D. approached me while I was incarcerated. They revealed that Christian was petitioning to have me tried as an adult and gave me an offer. I could spend the next several years of my life rotting in prison or they could release me in exchange for me becoming an agent. I was trained by the best of the best to protect people."

"So…why'd you leave?"

Grant sent a glare in Oliver's direction. "Not now. Back to Somers."

After several seconds of hesitation, Oliver nodded in acceptance. "The city's police and the D.A. can't stop him or won't. Laurel thinks she's the only one willing to bring him to justice. She's wrong." Opening a wooden box with Chinese inscriptions, Oliver pulled out his bow. "Let's get moving."

* * *

Grant watched from the rafters above, remaining perfectly still as the man he guessed was Martin Somers entered the building flanked by two guards. Somers was the epitome of a shady businessman. His posture was completely rigid as he stood at maximum height, his green eyes narrowed and threatening. He even had the whole creepy-looking beard thing going for him. He turned to the man to his left.

"You, listen up. The longer this goes on, the more likely the media is gonna crucify me. You shut this trial down, do you understand me?"

That was Grant's cue. He fired an arrow at the light switch, causing the panel to spark. The room was engulfed in darkness.

"What the hell?" shouted Somers.

He smirked to himself. Somers might not have been able to see, but the dark was Grant's friend. Firing two arrows in quick succession, he watched the bodyguards hit the ground with a dull thud. When the businessman turned on a flashlight, Grant almost felt bad for the idiot.

Somers didn't see Oliver's hammer fist until it was too late.

* * *

He observed from afar as Oliver stood in front of their upside-down target, who was just waking up.

 _This should be entertaining._

"Martin Somers," growled Oliver, drawing an arrow, "you have failed this city!"

"No! No, no, no, no!" cried Somers, squirming in a desperate attempt to escape.

Oliver released the arrow, which whizzed past his victim's head.

"You're gonna testify in that trial. You're gonna confess to having Victor Nocenti killed!"

"No! No!"

"There won't be a second warning!"

The next arrow grazed the flesh of Somers' cheek, splitting the skin as crimson blood trickled out of the wound. The man covered his eyes and cried out in pain.

When he reopened them, he was alone on the docks.

* * *

Oliver grinned as he entered the Queen Mansion. The night had gone rather successfully, if he did say so himself. Grant seemed to be in on the plan to make Starling a better city. Sara was alive, something that still came as a shock to him. _Where the hell is she anyway?_ She hadn't made contact with him since the night on the rooftop. He was pretty sure she hadn't communicated with Grant either. Knowing her, her family was still under the impression that she had died five years ago. Which, of course, meant that Quentin Lance was likely to hate him for the foreseeable future.

There was so much about both Grant and Sara that he didn't know. And, based on his experiences throughout his five year absence, knowledge was everything. Still, he would probably have to wait for the two of them to talk instead of snooping around on his own. That could only end badly, and he didn't need to give Grant a reason to not trust him.

"I hired you to protect my son. Now, I'm not a professional bodyguard, but it seems to me that the first requirement would be managing to stay next to the man you're hired to protect."

"With all due respect, ma'am, I never had a client who didn't want my protection."

Oliver waited outside the hall, listening in on the conversation with a trace of amusement.

"I hired you. That makes me the client. Now where do you think my son is going on these chaperone-less excursions?"

"Ma'am, I truly do not know."

This would be his chance to explain his disappearances. _And by 'explain', I mean lie._

He stepped into the living room. "And he truly doesn't."

"Then perhaps you'd like to share with me, you know, where it is you run off to?" asked Moira, raising an eyebrow.

"I've been alone for five years," he started.

His mom's face morphed into one of pain. "I know that, Oliver."

He winced inwardly. He hated having to lie to people he cared about, especially when his made-up explanation brought his mother pain. Still, he started it. He had to finish. "Mom… _alone_."

"I see," she said. By her tone, he was pretty sure she meant 'of course he's sneaking around with girls'.

He smiled. "I promise to introduce her if it ever gets to the, uh, exchanging first names stage."

One glance at Diggle showed the man's obvious disapproval of his behavior.

"No, I'd rather you promise to take Mr. Diggle with you on your next rendezvous. It's not safe, you've already been abducted once. There is a maniac out there, hunting the wealthy."

 _Actually, there's three maniacs out there. And I'm one of them._

"That maniac saved my life."

Moira glared at him. "This isn't a game." She paused momentarily before speaking again. "I lost you once," she said in a voice wracked with emotion. "And I am not going through that again."

Finally, he decided to end the debate. "Okay. Digg's my guy."

His mom gave a loud sigh of relief. "Thank you," she huffed, walking out of the room.

Oliver turned his attention to Diggle. "Sorry to give you so much grief."

Diggle scratched his chin, maneuvering around the furniture to talk to him face to face. "I served three tours in Afghanistan, Mr. Queen. You don't even come close to my definition of grief. But, I'll tell you what. You ditch me one more time, no one will have to fire me."

He nodded in acceptance, exiting the room and running into his little sister. "Where you going?"

Thea turned to look at him, an annoyed expression on her face. "Uh, somewhere loud and smoky. And don't bother trying to pickpocket my stash this time, because I'm gonna go get drunk instead."

In the five years that he had been gone, his sister had become a drinker and started doing drugs. And he had no idea if his mom knew and didn't care, or if she had no idea whatsoever. Oliver was never a good brother to begin with, so he had no idea what the hell to do in this situation. He stepped forward. "Thea, do you think this is what Dad would want for you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Dead people don't want anything. It's one of the benefits of being dead."

 _That's a lie. I wanted so, so much on that island. There were so many things I wanted and so many things I wished I hadn't done._ "I was dead. And I wanted a lot."

"Except for your family," she practically snarled. "You've been home a week and all you do is avoid mom, ignore Walter, and judge me. Don't wait up." She stormed out of the house before he could make a move to stop her.

* * *

"Well, I owe you an apology, Mr. Somers," said a sarcastic Quentin Lance. "We come all the way down to your docks, and it turns out, you don't need the police after all."

Martin Somers leaned back in his chair, smiling. "Which is exactly what I've been saying."

Quentin scoffed. "Yeah. So I guess that 9-1-1 call we got last night from your stevedore, saying that you were getting attacked by a guy in a green hood and a bow and arrow, was a practical joke?"

"These guys like to fool around."

"Yeah. Well, you know, I'd be very much inclined to believe an honest, upstanding businessman like yourself, except…one of my men found this at your docks."

He pulled out a green arrow, tapping the tip with his finger. "You see, there's this vigilante running around. He thinks he's some kind of Robin Hood. He's robbing the rich, he's trying to teach them a lesson, I guess. I don't know, I don't know. But the point is, the man's a killer. And nothing, and no one, is going to stop me from bringing him down! But like you said, hmmm," He placed the arrow into a hole in Somers' desk, "clearly nothing happened here last night."

Somers made a motion to speak, but Lance cut him off. "You know what else I don't understand?" He motioned to one of his fellow officers, who handed him a black arrow. "There's an arrow with a different color. Does that mean there are two of these nutjobs running around? Why don't you tell me, huh, Mr. Somers?"

The businessman's eyes widened slightly at the information that two people attacked him. "I can assure you, Detective Lance, I have no idea what you are talking about. But isn't this a conflict of interest? After all, your daughter is suing me."

"I'm pretty good at keeping my emotions in check."

"I'm not," said Somers, rising from his seat. "You and your daughter don't want to find out what I'm capable of when I get…emotional."

* * *

Oliver rubbed his eyes, having just exited Queen Consolidated. He couldn't believe his mother and Walter wanted him to take a leadership position in the company. He had other plans, things he could not do when he was seated behind a desk all day.

He needed guidance on what to do.

* * *

"Well, we anticipate that Somers' attorney will try and paint you as blinded by grief or looking to make a buck," stated Laurel Lance, speaking to her client.

Emily Nocenti shook her head. "This isn't about the money. I just want justice for my father."

"Emily, there are a lot of people who don't want this trial to proceed. Dangerous people," reminded Joanna, Laurel's friend.

"My mother died when I was a baby, and my father has been the only family I've ever known and they slit his throat. They are going to have to kill me if they want me to give this up."

"Well," said Laurel, taking a deep breath, "let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"And it won't," said Quentin Lance, entering the room.

Laurel turned to her father. "What's going on?"

"What's going on is that the three of you are getting around-the-clock police protection. Okay?" stated Quentin. "Get used to their faces, because they're going with you everywhere you go, no arguments."

"I'm a lawyer. I live to argue."

"I'm your father. I live to keep you safe."

Joanna glanced awkwardly at Emily. "Um, Emily, let's go grab a cup of coffee, okay?"

Emily nodded, moving to follow Joanna.

"Please, go with them." Two of Lance's officers followed the women out, while the third stayed behind.

"Protective custody? I seem to recall you trying that once I discovered boys. Didn't work then either."

"This isn't a joke, Laurel. Martin Somers got attacked last night."

That was news to her. "What?"

"Yeah."

"By who?" _Was it the guardian angel?_

"Doesn't matter. Point is, you have whipped up a storm with these guys, and until the dust settles you'll be protected, okay? End of discussion."

"That might have worked when I was eight. But it's no gonna work anymore," said Laurel, raising her voice.

Quentin whirled on her. "End of discussion, Laurel! You're insistent on doing your job, that's great. But this is me doing mine, okay? And not just as a father, but as a cop. These people, they are more dangerous than you are willing to admit. And you've made them angry."

* * *

"Thank you for coming," said Somers.

"Anything for a friend," replied China White, a leading figure of the Chinese Triad.

"We're not friends. You smuggle drugs, I let you use my port."

"For which you're paid a lot of money," she reminded.

Somers scoffed. "I don't get paid enough to have arrows shot at me. You need to take this guy, or guys, I have no fucking idea, seriously. This is a bigger threat to your operation than Nocenti ever was."

"Except now it's Nocenti's daughter who's the problem. And unlike your friend, or friends, with the hood, we know where to find her."

"Don't be an idiot. You take out Emily Nocenti, and Laurel Lance will never let this go. She won't stop until she burns you, me, and then the entire triad to the ground."

"Then we kill Ms. Lance."

* * *

Oliver sighed, following his sister to the backyard. She had caught him with his shirt off and seen his plethora of scars, which had led to an argument between the two of them. And now she wanted to show him something.

That something turned out to be the gravestones of him and his father.

"Sometimes, when I felt, whatever, I'd come here. About a month after the funerals, mom stopped going out. Pretty soon, she stopped talking altogether. The house got so quiet, so I'd come here. To talk to you," said Thea. "I mean, stupid stuff. Like what I was doing that day, what boy I had a crush on. And then sometimes, I'd ask you, beg you, to find your way home to me."

He closed his eyes, letting her words sink in.

"Now here you are," she continued, "and the truth is, I felt closer to you when you were dead." _Ouch, that hurt._ "Look, I know it was hell where you were. But it was hell here too. You gotta let me in, Ollie. You gotta let someone in."

* * *

"Hi. Are you okay?" At Laurel's annoyed expression, he added, "There are two cop cars outside."

"How am I supposed to stay away from you if you won't stay away from me?"

"I-"

"What are you doing here, Ollie?"

"My sister, uh, pointed out to me that I have been distant since I got back and that it would probably be a good idea if I let somebody in."

"So you thought you'd start with the first person you pushed away."

"I did that to protect you. And then I saw you yesterday, and I realized that I hurt you."

Laurel pushed the door open, a relieved expression on her face. "Thank you," she breathed.

"Wow," said Oliver, stepping into Laurel's medium-sized apartment. "This place hasn't changed in five years."

"I haven't really had time to redecorate," she said sarcastically.

Taking a deep breath, he started his apology. "I'm a jerk. Before the island, I was a jerk, and now I'm just a damaged jerk."

She motioned toward the paper bag in his hands. "What's in the bag?"

He smiled. "I thought about many things on the island, but there was one thing that I thought about every day. I actually dreamed about it, and I promised myself that if I ever got a chance to do it again, I'd do it with you." He rummaged through the bag and pulled out a container of ice cream. "Eat ice cream."

* * *

"My mother wants me to join the company," said Oliver, leaning against the couch that Laurel was currently sitting on. At her incredulous expression, he laughed. "Yeah. Take my rightful place."

Laurel giggled. "I can't exactly picture you as master of the universe."

"You know, after five years, I have plans. I have things that I have to do." _I have to save this city from itself, bring criminals to justice, and cross off every name in my father's list._ "I can't do that if I'm, I don't know, attending board meetings and stockholder briefings."

"Oliver?"

"Hmm?" He glanced up at her to find a teasing expression on her face.

"You're an adult. You can say no."

He snorted. "Oh, I tried. Didn't take."

"Well, then don't tell her. Show her. Be the person that you want her to see you as. Trust me. I have plenty of experience with disapproving parents."

Oliver grinned, bringing a spoonful of ice cream to his lips. "I have been on the receiving end of your father's disapproval."

"He blames himself more than he blames you. He thinks that, you know, maybe if he and Sara were closer, she would have told him about the boat trip and he could have stopped her from going with you."

"I am sorry," he said, and he truly meant it.

She sighed. "You apologized already."

"And it'll never be enough."

His ears perked up when he heard a footstep. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" she asked, confused.

"There's someone on the fire escape," he whispered, reaching forward and grasping a large kitchen knife.

Gently, he tugged on her arm. "Hey, come on."

At that moment, a window slid open and the door broke down, revealing several assailants. Amongst those was a Chinese woman with white hair, who launched herself at Oliver. _I can't fight them like this. There'll be too much suspicion._ Turning, he led Laurel through several rooms in an attempt to get away. A man stepped in their way, gun raised. Cursing, he prepared to fight in order to protect himself and Laurel.

Suddenly, the window behind their attacker shattered and an arrow pierced the man's chest. Laurel screamed in surprise at the bloody sight. Oliver looked up and sighed in relief when he saw Grant, in full Taskmaster gear, roll to his feet.

* * *

"Go!" shouted Grant, voice changer activated. "I'll hold them off."

He charged headfirst into the group of mercenaries, attempting to keep their attention of Laurel and Oliver. Within seconds, they were disabled, minus the white-haired lady. He engaged her in hand to hand. He kneed her in the stomach. She doubled over and pushed herself forward, knocking Grant backward. He hit the wall with a thud. Ducking, he dodged her knife and punched her in the ribs. She hissed and delivered an uppercut to his chest. _I need to get out of this corner._ Snapping her head to the side with a hook, Grant kicked his feet upward, wrapping them around her neck, and pivoted his body. They were both sent sprawling. Rolling to the left, he avoided the knife she threw in his direction.

When he looked up, she was gone.

* * *

Grant met up with Oliver in the Foundry, the latter suiting up.

"I wanted to give Martin Somers the chance to confess and face a court's justice, but he chose to go after someone we care about. It's time we end this," growled Oliver.

Grant nodded. The bastard was going to pay for going after his childhood friend. "I couldn't agree more."

* * *

"Triad bitch screwed up the hit on Lance," snarled Somers. "Now, they're gonna erase every ounce of evidence of their smuggling operation, including me." He paused, glancing toward one of his men. "Except that's not gonna happen. Tell Wallace to get the boat ready. I'm leaving tonight."

The man nodded, radioing the boatman. "Wallace? Wallace, you copy?"

"Wallace isn't here," growled a voice on the other end of the line. Somers' eyes widened in horror. "But I am."

"We need to move, now!" shouted Somers. "Move!"

"Sir, we've got six men out there."

"It's not enough!"

* * *

With the bodyguards dispatched, Grant stepped forward, arrow drawn. "Somers!"

"Oh, God, no, no, no!"

"He can't help you. I want the truth about Victor Nocenti!"

He cornered the pathetic bastard against a storage container.

"I can't! The triad…the triad will kill me."

"I'd be more concerned about me," he hissed.

"All right, all right, all right! It wasn't me that killed him. It was the triad," said Somers, panicked.

"Acting on whose instructions?" When Somers remained silent, he shouted, "Whose?"

"All right! It was mine. It was mine, okay? Nocenti said he was gonna testify against me."

The businessman glanced to the right, face contorting in fear. Quickly, Grant turned his attention away from him. The woman from earlier stood, a knife in each hand.

"Move away from him," she said in Chinese.

"Make me," he challenged in the same language.

She snarled, launching herself forward in a spinning motion. He dodged her first few attacks, but cursed when he had to bring his bow up to defend himself. _Shit, she's good._ He had definitely underestimated her. Their fight from earlier was in a confined space, but out in the open she proved to be a formidable opponent. Her constant barrage forced him to back up. He ducked down to avoid a spinning kick, which only resulted in her other leg making contact with his back. He grunted as he sprawled forward, hitting a metal container. She advanced, towering above him and raising her knives.

She was pulled back from behind by Oliver. When she turned around, he head-butted her. Grant scrambled to his feet just in time to deliver a kick to the stumbling woman's ribs. The three of them stood in a triangle formation, Oliver and Grant next to each other and the Chinese woman farther out.

They froze when sirens wailed in the distance. The three of them took one last look at each other before making a hasty retreat.

Grant ran across the docks, maneuvering around and above storage containers as his mind raced. The day had been hectic. Ever since he had returned from the docks the night before, he had not been able to think straight. Everything had been catching up with him and starting to sink in. He hadn't gotten any sleep and was completely drained. In fact, he had no idea how he was still standing, let alone had taken on the Chinese woman twice in one day.

"Freeze! You twitch and you're dead!" shouted Mr. Lance's familiar voice.

He turned toward the sound to see Oliver standing still as Lance advanced.

 _He has no idea I'm here._

"Bow down, hands up."

Oliver obeyed, lowering the bow to the ground. When Lance was a few inches away from his friend, Grant fired the arrow that contained the recording of Somers' confession at the officer's weapon. The gun clattered to the floor, giving Oliver the chance to scoop up his bow and sprint away.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Grant made his exit.

* * *

"So, please, stop asking me to be."

Laurel watched in surprise as Oliver exited the stage, nodding to her as he left. He had taken her advice in a big way, publicly showing that he absolutely would not join his family's company. Something was wrong with her friend, she knew it. As much as Oliver tried to act like the reason he wouldn't join the business was because he was irresponsible, she knew him better than he thought. It seemed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders and she was determined to help him.

However, when she and Tommy turned to leave, she realized helping Oliver would have to wait.

Because in front of her stood a blonde Grant Ward, who looked like he hadn't slept at all.

"Hello, Laurel."


	6. Lone Gunman Part I

**AN: I'm breaking up episode three, Lone Gunman, into two parts.**

 **MarvelMatt: There's going to be a lot of changes to the Arrowverse in this story. In terms of Ward 'stepping into the light as a member of a wealthy family under his real name', I can't answer that yet. However, this chapter does offer insight on Ward's family in this AU.**

 **Highlander348: You have to keep reading as I can't answer that right now. This AU is only on episode three of Arrow, so there's still time for a lot of things to happen.**

 **Shadow: Thank you!**

 **KathPetrovaDiary: Thank you so much for the kind review! I'm so glad you enjoy the character portrayal and fight scenes!**

* * *

"G-Grant?" mumbled Laurel, backing up slightly.

She couldn't believe her eyes. The man in front of her looked exhausted with creases in his forehead and dark-rimmed bloodshot eyes. His demeanor seemed different too. He stood straighter and with more authority than during their childhood. Then again, when they were younger, he was usually beaten and starved for days at a time.

Laurel had tried, with her dad's help, to get the police force involved. But it was a little girl's word against that of a wealthy and influential family. Grant's family problems were one of the main reasons she had become a lawyer. The truth needed to get out somehow, and if no one else was going to do it, it would have to be her.

The Grant Ward in front of her, despite his new appearance, was still her friend.

Just like the Tommy Merlyn next to her, despite his new name and family, was Thomas Ward.

"Grant?" muttered Tommy, eyes widening.

She watched as Grant turned toward the other man, scrutinizing him.

 _Any second now._

Grant's eyes flashed with recognition.

"Thomas?"

* * *

The three of them entered Laurel's apartment, Tommy and Laurel taking the couch while Grant chose to sit in a chair.

He stared disbelievingly at his younger brother.

Thomas had really grown into his own. His hair was a darker brown now and he seemed rather easygoing with a sense of wealth about him. The black suit he had worn to Oliver's speech was in pristine condition and he seemed to fit the mold of his new lifestyle well.

However, he was not sure how his brother would react to his presence. When they had last spoken, Thomas had called him saying that Christian had beaten him severely, which resulted in Grant driving all the way back home and burning their house down.

Still, he hoped for a positive outcome to this conversation. Throughout their childhood, even though Christian would sometimes have Grant beat Tommy, the youngest Ward always seemed to care for Grant. When they visited Gramsy, Tommy always hung around him. He was hoping that their connection, no matter how fucked up it was, would be enough for his little stunt to be forgiven.

"So…Merlyn, huh?" questioned Grant, raising an eyebrow.

Tommy rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, uh-"

"If you're adopted, did something happen to our parents?" he asked, curious.

 _Something must have. Otherwise, they would still have complete control over his life. And why haven't I seen them on the news since I've been back? They were pretty affluent business-people._

Tommy cleared his throat, looking at him skeptically. "You mean…you don't know?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Know what?"

He hadn't kept tabs on his family since joining S.H.I.E.L.D. because he had been too busy with training and eventually Specialist missions. Also, he had specifically asked to not be informed of anything regarding his family.

"Well…uh…Laurel, do you want to tell him?"

The brunette shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her gaze falling nervously to the floor. "When I, uh, became a lawyer…I made it my personal goal to take your parents down. Eventually, I gathered enough evidence to expose them for cruelty and wrongdoings. Last I heard, Christian reformed and is currently living in California with his girlfriend."

"And my parents?"

"Dead," said Tommy, picking up where Laurel left off. "Dad was scheduled to make an appearance at a court hearing. When he got out of the car, he got double tapped through the heart. Shortly after, mom killed herself in prison."

Grant nodded, taking in the information rather easily. He couldn't say he felt too bad for his parents. He had always struggled in the emotional department and he really found it difficult to feel sorry for childhood tormentors.

His younger brother continued after several moments of silence. "Malcolm Merlyn, a friend of Oliver's mom, decided to adopt me when I was eighteen. He said I was like the son he'd always wanted, no matter what age I was. He's been treating me pretty well ever since."

"Good, that's good. We deserve to be happy."

And wasn't that the truth. He really couldn't be happier for his brother. As long as this Malcolm person continued to treat Tommy well, Grant would be forever grateful to him.

He turned toward Laurel. "And Laurel…thank you for bringing my parents to justice."

* * *

Laurel wasn't sure what she was expecting, but it wasn't that reaction. He didn't seem to care that his parents were gone. In fact, he seemed rather…content? "That's it? A thank you? You aren't mad or anything?"

Grant's gaze hardened as he looked at her. She found herself feeling unnerved at the intensity of his glare.

Maybe this wasn't the same Grant Ward she remembered.

"They won't be missed."

Shivers ran down her spine.

* * *

A few days after his meeting with Tommy and Laurel, Grant found himself shirtless in the Foundry.

He pulled himself up on the pull up bar, the metal resting against his hips as he flipped his elbows and reverse-dipped, completing his fifteenth muscle up.

Since Oliver was out, Grant had deemed this a time of relaxation, which left him to his own thoughts.

 _Sixteen_ , he mentally counted.

The team was no doubt looking for him right now, although he could no longer estimate how far they had progressed in their search.

 _Nineteen._

Skye was probably fucking around with Rogers, something that he tried desperately to convince himself didn't bother him.

 _Twenty-one._

Tommy and Laurel had both given him their numbers so they could reconnect. He was excited to catch up with them after such a long time.

 _Twenty-four._

Sara was…well, he had no idea where she was or how she was doing. He hadn't heard from her in roughly a week and a half, which frustrated him immensely. Where could she have gone? What was so important that she had merely left him with a note and disappeared? He felt like she should have at least told him where she was going. His thinking process was fucked up at best. As a result, he tended to think of the scenario where she hadn't told him because she didn't care enough.

 _Twenty-seven._

At that moment, Oliver stumbled into the Foundry, dropping his bow in the process.

"Oliver?"

He jumped down from the bar, rushing forward to help his friend.

"Bullet grazed me," muttered his friend, eyes losing focus. "Poison."

 _Shit._ He hoisted Oliver onto the operating table and forced him into a sitting position. Opening the medicine cabinet, he pulled out a red herb that Oliver had told him to use in situations like this. After grinding it, he brought the bowl to his friend and forced him to swallow it. Afterwards, Grant shoved a water bottle into Oliver's hands, who eagerly took several sips.

"What…the fuck happened?" breathed Grant, leaning back once he saw Oliver's eyes refocus.

His fellow archer coughed violently before responding, "I went after James Holder. He's on my father's list. His, uh, his corporation puts defective smoke detectors in low-income housing in the Glades. I took out his security detail. I had him cornered but I wasn't the only one after him. There was a sniper. Holder got a double tap through the heart and a bullet grazed the skin on my shoulder."

Before Grant could answer, Oliver's phone went off. Reaching across the table, his friend grabbed it, glancing at the screen.

"It's my mom. She wants me to come home. Something big happened."

Oliver grabbed a spare white shirt and cargo shorts, moving into the corner to change.

"So that's it? You literally just got shot by a poison-laced bullet and you're just going to go home like nothing happened?"

The man in question exited the lair without another word.

"Guess so," sighed Grant.

* * *

"What happened?" asked Oliver, entering the living room.

Several police officers surrounded the couch, where a nonchalant Thea sat. _This can't be good._

John Diggle scratched his chin, turning to face his boss. "The cops brought Thea home. She and some of her friends broke into a store, tried on some dresses last night. Lit up the breathalyzer like a Christmas tree."

He sighed, not knowing what else to do. Thea was turning into him when he was her age, which was the worst possible thing she could do. Based on his drunken altercations, including the time he punched a reporter in the face and threw the camera at a wall, he could safely say that he was not the best role model.

"So…how was your evening, sir?" asked Diggle.

Oliver cleared his throat, glancing at the ground. "You mean after I said I had to go to the bathroom at dinner and never came back?"

His bodyguard nodded, staring him in the eyes. "I guess from now on I'll be watching you pee."

He raised an alarmed eyebrow. _Diggle wouldn't seriously…_

The man's lips curled upward slightly, which caused Oliver to breathe a sigh of relief.

He refocused his attention on his sister when the officers left and an argument broke out.

"Last time it was public intoxication. This time breaking and entering," stated Moira, unamused. "My, how we are moving up in the criminal world."

"You know," smiled Thea, "when you pay off the store owner, you should check out the merchandise. They got some pretty killer outfits."  
So that's how his sister was going to play it. _Use the sassy routine, act like you don't care, and piss mom off._

"Thea, go get ready for school."

"Uh, you know, I was thinking of taking a sick day."

Moira rolled her eyes. "Fine, then get some sleep."

Thea smiled, folding her arms and walking out of the room.

"You look like crap," she commented as she walked by him.

He breathed deeply, trying to keep his emotions in check as he walked toward their mother. "You're letting her play hooky?" he asked in frustration.

"When your sister gets like this, it's best to give her space."

 _Yeah, bullshit. Why don't you start acting like a real parent and teach your children to behave properly._

"She's testing you."

"Yes," she said, matter-of-factly. "Who'd she learn that from?"

"Mom," he all but growled, "when I was her age, you and dad let me get away with murder. Looking back, I could have used less space and more parenting."

* * *

"It doesn't make sense," mumbled Quentin, overlooking the site of Holder's shooting.

His African-American partner, Lucas Hilton, grunted. "Holder fits the profile. Wealthy dirtbag. Red meat for the hoods. And we recovered at least one arrow."

"Yeah, only this time the cause of death is a double tap through the heart and our perps don't use firearms."

"Maybe they've finally figured out there's easier ways to kill people than with a bow and arrow. It's like you said, the guys are whackjobs."

* * *

"Grant, check this out," said Oliver from where he was typing away on the desktop computer.

Exhaling, he jumped down from the salmon ladder and made his way over to his friend.

"What's up?"

"The bullet," said Oliver, tapping on the screen, which displayed a 3D model of the bullet as well as several lines of information. "It was laced with curare."

He frowned. "Sounds deadly."

Oliver nodded, leaning back in his chair. "And extremely rare. It's the killer's unique MO. He's killed all over the world. Chicago, Markovia, Corto Maltese, and…Starling City." He frowned.

"What's with the frowny face?"

Oliver drummed his fingers on the desk, biting his lip. "Because years ago, this man, Interpol calls him Deadshot, killed Christian Ward Senior, your father. Double tap through the heart, just like James Holder. And the bullet was laced with the same poison."

* * *

"Finally," muttered Clint, opening the door to Natasha's safehouse with his shoulder, several suitcases in tow.

The safehouse was located in the Castlefall district, an area near the Glades. Natasha had picked this location because it was far enough away to avoid criminal activity but close enough to the area in case she needed to eavesdrop and gain intel.

Clint was the lucky one who got to carry in the suitcases. Which, when dealing with Natasha, meant he also got to unpack.

"I'm going to go unload this shit," he grumbled. "Tasha, you know what to do?"

His redheaded partner smirked, taking a laptop out of its case. "Start searching for any leads on the vigilante or vigilantes, starting with patterns between the previous targets. I'm on it. Pepper, why don't you follow along and see if you can catch anything I might miss."

The strawberry blonde nodded, joining Natasha at the table.

* * *

"So, what do you think? Great spot for a nightclub or what?" asked Oliver, pulling open the doors to the Queen Industrial warehouse.

To conceal his base and avoid suspicion, he planned on creating and running a nightclub. _Because what better job is there for the one and only Oliver Queen?_

"Sweet," said Tommy, spinning around to examine the warehouse. "Though I got to tell you, man, if you're thinking about calling it Queens, I don't think you're gonna get the clientele that you were hoping for."

"Private office," he said, pointing to the corner of the room where his lair was.

Tommy hit him playfully on the shoulder. "For the private one-on-one meetings, I would imagine."

Grinning, he decided to play along. "Hopefully the occasional two-on-one meeting."

Tommy laughed before questioning, "Man, are you sure you want to do this? It's not like you really have any experience in running a, well, running anything."

Oliver focused his attention on his friend, sending him a small glare.

"How about tomorrow night the two of us, we go and scope out the competition. There's a new club opening downtown. It's called Poison. Max Fuller owns it."

He blinked rapidly, recognizing the name. "Max Fuller?"

"Mhm."

"I slept with his fiancée."

"Yeah, before the wedding."

"It was at the rehearsal dinner."

"Which...is technically before the wedding, right?" Tommy's phone rang. "Besides, who stays mad at a castaway?" He answered the call, bringing the phone to his ear. "Hello?" A minute later, he hung up. "Ah, dammit, I got to roll. Anyway, I'll see you later, man."

After Tommy exited the building, Oliver turned to Mr. Diggle.

"So, what do you think?"

Diggle cleared his throat. "Well, I'm here to provide security, sir, not a commentary."

"Oh, come on, Digg," he groaned, "do me a favor. Speak freely, please."

"Well, this is the Glades, right? Your rich white friends wouldn't come to this neighborhood on a bet."

 _Actually, my only friends currently are Tommy and my vigilante partner._

"I am Oliver Queen. People would stand in line for three hours if I opened a club," he smiled, trying to lighten the tone.

Digg wasn't amused. "And no one who actually lives in the Glades would see a penny of those cover charges."

Oliver frowned. "So we make it a successful business. We gentrify the neighborhood."

"Ah, I was wondering when we would get to that." At Oliver's questioning glance, Diggle continued. "The white knight swooping in to save the disenfranchised."

 _Shit, is he onto me? But how could he know? No…no, he doesn't know anything. I'm sure of it._

He smiled confidently. "You don't think very much of me, do you?"

"No, actually, I have a very high regard for how…perceptive you are," said Diggle. "Sir," he added as an afterthought.

 _The nightclub will conceal my base underneath and provide an alibi for where I spend my nights._

* * *

"Hey. Do you have the depos on the Jergens case?" asked Joanna, approaching Laurel's desk.

Hurriedly, she exited out of the article she was reading about Oliver. Standing up, she started looking through her files. When she turned around, she saw her friend's disapproving glare. "I was just searching the net."

"Really?" asked Joanna, raising an eyebrow.

"Joanna," groaned Laurel, "I'm over him. But you probably don't believe me."

"Well, I would have if I wouldn't have just caught you trolling for articles on him!"

"I wasn't trolling!"

"I don't want to have to be the one to remind you that he cheated on you, Laurel. With your sister."

She didn't need a reminder from anyone about that. She thought about it every single day. The heartbreak had almost been too much to bear when she had learned that Sara was on the boat with Oliver. Her boyfriend had been declared missing and then hours later Moira had come by to say that Sara had apparently snuck on the boat with him. Her emotions had been so mixed. How could she hate her sister when she was dead? How could she hate Oliver when he was dead as well? But now Oliver was alive and she didn't know how to handle it. She didn't know how Grant was handling it either. As well as he had kept it hidden, Laurel had always known that Grant loved Sara.

"I appreciate your self-control," mumbled Laurel.

"You're stuck in the past. It is time to move on. It is past time."

Laurel glanced at her friend. "I've been busy. I work a lot."

"Okay," said Joanna, smiling. "That's got to stop. So, we are going out tonight. And…and we are going to have some shots and we are going to dance with men that we don't know and we are going to stay out way too late." She glanced down at the pile of folders on Laurel's desk, pulling one out. "Ah! Jergens depos."

"I really don't think I can go out tonight."

Her friend winked. "It is adorable that you actually think I'm giving you a choice."

* * *

"Thea," called Moira, entering her daughter's room. "I want you to come home right after school."

Thea smiled. "Oh, can't. Margot and I are going to go to the mall."

"What," said Moira, a fake smile plastered on her face, "more shopping? Tell Margot you'll have to cancel. You're grounded for two weeks."

The younger woman looked incredulous. "Grounded? I've never been grounded."

"Well, you've never committed larceny before."

"Um, since when do you care?"

Moira felt hurt by that. _Maybe Oliver does have a point._ "I've always cared. I'm your mother."

"Look, we've had a good thing going on the last five years. Why mess with that now?"

 _No, the 'thing' we've had going on was pretending we weren't a family, but we are._

"No, we are paying off store owners to keep your record clean. So clearly, it hasn't been working."

"And…you're going to teach me?" She smirked. "It's Oliver, isn't it? His judgmental hypocrisy is rubbing off on you."

"No, I don't need Oliver to teach me how to parent you. You'll be home by four o' clock."

"Or what?" asked Thea, lifting her backpack off the floor. "You're going to call the cops on me? Tell them I say hi."

She walked out of the room, leaving an upset Moira behind.

* * *

"This is the area the sniper was positioned in," said Oliver, glancing at the buildings around them.

Grant nodded wordlessly.

"Hey," whispered Oliver, nudging his friend. "You okay?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine. It's just…this guy killed my dad. I hated the bastard, but...I don't know. I guess I'm just anxious is all."

He didn't really care that his father had been killed, as cruel as it sounded. But what worried him was this Deadshot. In terms of security, the Wards were second only to the Queens. If this man had managed to kill his father, then they needed to be cautious.

"Hey," said his friend, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It'll be fine. We'll take this son of a bitch down, just like we took down Hunt and Somers. Now come on, I'll race you to the top."

"You're on."

They sprinted forward, using a low window sill to propel themselves upward before grasping onto a metal pipe. Pulling themselves up, they jumped upward and grabbed onto two separate vertical pipelines. Simultaneously, they vaulted upward, grabbing hold of another window sill.

"I see something," informed Grant, spotting an object embedded in the wall.

Oliver handed him a pair of pliers. Balancing himself in the window frame, Grant reached to his right, clasping the pliers around the object. Ripping it out of the wall, he examined it.

"Looks like part of one of our killer's bullets."

* * *

"Got ballistics back on the Holder murder," notified Lucas, reading from a report.

Quentin set down the photographs of the crime scene, turning his attention to his partner.

"They pulled two 7.62 millimeter bullets out of him," he continued. "According to the stippling and size of the entry wound, they estimate the shots were fired from approximately a hundred yards away."

Quentin laughed. _No way that was one of the hoods._ "A hundred yards? What, so one of the hoods shoots him from another building, goes over to his place, he takes out his security, and then fires off a few arrows?"

Lucas ignored his small rant. "And, according to his tox screen, his blood contained high concentrations of strychnos toxifera."

"What the hell is that?"

"Curare. It's a kind of poison."

"Oh, okay. So now we switch from arrows to sniper bullets and poison. I'm not buying it."

"We still found arrows on the scene. Solid evidence the hood was there." While his partner was talking, Quentin left his seat and moved toward the door. "Where you going?"

"I'm going to get my own evidence."

* * *

"7.62 millimeter rounds," informed Oliver, finishing the analysis of the bullet sample. "The money trail leads back to the Bratva, the Russian mob. Finally, some good luck."

"You have contacts in the Russian mob too?" asked Grant, an amused smirk on his face.

"Yep," replied Oliver with a small smile. "Let's go meet some acquaintances."

* * *

 **Next chapter, based on my guess, will be a decent amount longer than this. It also features the appearance of a core Arrow character that hasn't been in the story so far. Also, I think you guys will be pleased to know that an integral character will be making a return in part two of Lone Gunman.**


	7. Lone Gunman Part II

**Alkeni: I forgot to put this in the notes but, in this AU, Grant doesn't have a biological sister. Also, thank you for the kind words.**

 **Stand with Ward and Salvatore: Read on and find out! And thank you!**

 **KathPetrovaDiary: Thank you so much! And yes, knowing all of those languages is going to come in handy.**

 **This chapter was very difficult to write, but very rewarding to complete. I really hope you guys and girls enjoy it.**

* * *

Quentin knelt by the pool of Holder's high-rise, glancing around the rooftop.

The damn place had been scrubbed clean. The police department had taken what they needed, sure, but based on his career experiences, there was usually something he could spot. So either the police had gotten everything, or somebody had tidied up the crime scene afterwards.

 _Well, ain't that just dandy?_

* * *

Grant walked side by side with Oliver at a brisk pace, heads down low. Turning right, they entered the parking lot of an automotive repair shop. Oliver pulled the door open and Grant stepped inside, his friend following shortly after.

"Ya ischu Alexi Leonov (I'm looking for Alexi Leonov)," said Oliver.

The mechanics turned toward them, eyeing them suspiciously. Both of the Russians were old. One had graying hair and a decent amount of muscle, meaning he was the enforcer. The other was bald and shorter, most likely the man in charge.

"Tam nikogo net zdes's takim imenem (There's no one here by that name)," replied the bald man.

"Ne v vashem garazhe (Not in your garage)." Oliver stepped forward. "V podvale pod nim (In the basement underneath)."

"Voz'mite nas k Alexi Leonov (Take us to Alexi Leonov)," demanded Grant.

The enforcer advanced toward them, pulling a gun from his jeans and cocking it. Oliver twisted the man's wrist before tearing the pistol away, dismantling it. "Ya Bratva (I'm Bratva)," stated Oliver, pulling down the front of his shirt to reveal a tattoo of a green spiked ball. "Ya khochu chtoby Alexi Leonov (I want to see Alexi Leonov)."

After a moment of hesitation, the bald mechanic stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Pleased to meet the both of you."

* * *

As the four of them descended the staircase to the basement, Alexi, the shorter Russian, spoke up again. "I apologize. We meant no disrespect to two captains. Particularly two American ones." They settled around a metal table, leaning forward. "So, how can I be of assistance?"

"I'm in the market for a hired gun. Someone the organization's used before. His calling card is a 7.62 millimeter gun laced with curare," informed Oliver.

Alexi shook his head, pouring four shots of vodka. "I know no man who uses such tools."

"But you can find out who does," said Grant.

"First, we will drink to everyone's health," said Alexi, handing the three other men a glass. "Then, I will look into the identity of this man you seek."

The four raised their glasses, downing the shot in one mouthful.

Alexi stared at the two of them. "I will also confirm that you two are really Bratva captains. Should this not be the case, I will send my mechanic here to find you and kill you and your families." The man finished the threat with a broad smile on his face.

 _Your mechanic wouldn't last a second against either of us._

Nevertheless, the two nodded before ascending the staircase.

* * *

"Carl Rasmussen was found shot to death in his home earlier this evening. The police will not comment if there's a connection between Mr. Rasmussen's death and the murder of James Holder a few nights ago. Mr. Rasmussen leaves behind a wife and three children," stated the reporter on the television.

Deadshot smirked as he finished his tattoo, flexing his muscles in the mirror and looking at the new name engraved in his skin.

 _Carl Rasmussen._

* * *

"It's a great loss," said Walter Steele, Moira's colored British husband. "Carl was a titan."

"A titan…who was looking to buy out a company called Unidac Industries?" questioned Detective Lucas Hilton, leaning against a wall in the Queen Mansion's family room.

"Well, industries is something of a misnomer," explained Walter. "UI's recent activity was actually looking into alternative energy."

Quentin, the other detective in the room, cleared his throat. Walter turned his attention to him. "I think the point my partner is trying to make is that Carl Rasmussen was the second bidder this week to lose his life."

Moira glared at the detective from her spot on the couch next to her husband. "Are you implying something, Detective?"

"Well, only that your husband's looking into buying Unidac Industries and the competition seems to be dropping like flies," retorted Lance.

"And I'm sure your veiled accusation has nothing to do with how you feel about my family?"

Walter put an arm around Moira's shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze. "Unidac's in receivership, Detective. Ownership is subject to a liquidation auction, so that means there are many prospective buyers. And the auction's tomorrow, so if I was taking out the competition, I would have a lot of killing to do in a very short amount of time."

Lucas smiled, embarrassed by his partner's threats. "We're just making the rounds with the interested buyers. Letting them know to be careful."

"Oh, yes," said Moira, sarcastically. "And I'm overwhelmed that Detective Lance is concerned for our safety."

"Well, thank you for your concern, gentlemen. Our security consultant, Mr. Diggle, is taking all the necessary precautions," said Walter, nodding to Diggle, who stood at attention on the other side of the room.

"Yeah," grumbled Lance, rising from his seat. "Right. Well, uh, if you need us, we're just a 9-1-1 call away."

* * *

"Got something!" declared Natasha, leaning back in her seat.

Clint and Pepper entered the room, a slice of pizza in each of their hands.

She smirked at them. Clint had never been good at cooking, so he usually made frozen pizzas when it was his turn in the kitchen.

"What is it?" asked Pepper.

Natasha turned the laptop so the two of them could see the SCPD report she had managed to get her hands on. "The SCPD are investigating the murder of James Holder. The detectives assigned to the case, Lucas Hilton and Quentin Lance, recovered several green arrows. But Holder's cause of death was two bullets to the heart, both laced with a poison called curare. It's the calling card of an assassin known as Deadshot."

Clint nodded, picking up on where Natasha was going. "So our target is gonna be going after this Deadshot because Holder got picked from him.'

"Exactly."

* * *

The African-American security guard nodded to Tommy and Oliver, allowing them entrance into the nightclub.

"Oh man, this is going to be killer!" declared Tommy, a wide grin on his face.

"If Max Fuller sees me here, I agree," mumbled Oliver.

Poison seemed to be a hit, men and women dancing across the blue lit club and drinking at the fancy bar.

"If you want to run a business, you've got to take a few risks."  
"I don't see your name on the list," said the guard.

Oliver glanced over his shoulder to see John Diggle being stopped at the entryway.

"Mr. Queen," called Diggle.

 _Sorry about this, Digg._

"I have never seen this guy before in my life," he told the security guard. "Ever."

Before he turned around, he caught sight of Diggle's murderous expression.

* * *

When they entered the bar area, Oliver wanted to turn around and go back home.

Because Tommy had caught the gaze of none other than Laurel Lance.

 _Which is just fucking great._ Despite their conversation before the Triad broke into her house, he still was not sure where he stood with Laurel. He was pretty sure she didn't completely hate him, but that didn't necessarily mean she did not harbor feelings of resentment. And with everything he'd picked up on since his return, he was pretty sure that Tommy was trying to convince her to go on a date.

Still, there was no denying the fact that she looked beautiful in her black dress that fell to the middle of her thighs.

"Oh, wow!" grinned Tommy, walking up to Laurel. "Doesn't you going out and having fun violate some kind of law, you know, like the ones that are carved on a stone tablet?"

"That's cute, Tommy," she said, her face lacking any sign of humor. "I can see you two are up to your old hunting patterns."

 _Ouch. Yep, still slightly bitter._

He put on his best smile. "Just seeing what passes for fun in Starling City after five years."

"Ah. Well, I'm sure you'll find that it just hasn't been the same without you."

The fake smile on Oliver's face faltered. Laurel had always been able to shut him down completely with just a few hurtful words. It was a power she held over him that he didn't fully understand. She was the only person who could fill him completely with joy or crush him and leave him feeling empty inside.

At that moment, Thea giddily walked over in a blue sequin dress. "Big brother! Oh!" She clapped her hands together several times. "I am so wasted right now." She put her hands on his shoulders in an attempt to steady herself when she almost fell over. "There is…there is two of you."

Shocked, he opened his mouth several times before any words formed. "I thought you were grounded," he commented weakly.

Seeing his little sister like this distressed him. He wanted to help her so bad because she was family and he loved her, but he had no idea how to. She was turning into an exact replica of him when he was her age and she refused to let anyone help her.

"I am," she said happily. "And thank you…thank you for that, by the way."

Stepping closer, he placed a hand on his sister's shoulder. "You're done for the night."

"Oh, what are you going to do? Tell mom?" mocked his sister.

"Thea!" growled Oliver. "You are hanging with the wrong people."

She snorted. "You're one to talk. How much do you know about your own so-called friends over there?" She jerked her thumb in the direction of Tommy and Laurel, who busied themselves at the bar in an attempt to avoid the conversation.

Tommy sighed. "Oh, Thea, maybe you should-"

"Tommy, I think your BFF has a right to know."

"Thea," interrupted Oliver, "let's go."

His sister shoved his hand off. "Well, I guess Tommy never told you that, while you were gone, Laurel came to him a few times to get screwed."

"Look, man," started Tommy.

"Tommy." Oliver held up his hand. "It's okay."

It hurt, it really did. But, having had a secret relationship with Laurel's sister, he was in no position to express his feelings. So, he bottled everything up and closed the lid as tight as he could, and turned to his sister. "You and me, we're done for the night." He grabbed her by the shoulder, turning to guide her out.

Once again, she shoved his hand away. "Get your hands off of me!" She stepped closer, invading his personal space. "You're not my father. And you're barely my brother."

Just like that, she left him standing there.

Oliver had never been one to cry, and he sure as hell wasn't going to do it now. But the mixed emotions welling up inside of him threatened to spill and it was only a matter of time before he punched something.

"Well, look at this. Oliver Queen," called a familiar voice.

He turned to face the club owner.

Max Fuller was a wealthy man with blue eyes and light brown hair that was swept to the side, as well as a cocky attitude to boot.

"Max Fuller. How you been?"

"Happy you drowned."

The guards grabbed hold of Oliver, leading him across the club.

* * *

He was shoved through curtains into what seemed to be a storage room for the club's alcohol. Turning around, he spoke. "Hey Max-"

He was cut off by a hook to the face. It didn't hurt one bit but he had to remember that he was currently Oliver Queen and not one of the hoods. So, he turned with the punch and allowed himself to collapse to the ground.

"Get him up!" shouted Fuller.

Gritting his teeth, he clenched his hands into tight fists. _What I would give to knock the shit out of him._

"Hey, let him go, let him go!" shouted Tommy, barreling into the room. He shoved the guards aside, stepping in-between them and Oliver. "I said let him go!"

"Told you he was going to be pissed," whispered Oliver into Tommy's ear.

Fuller crossed his arms, a cocky smile on his face. "Back off, Merlyn. This isn't your problem."

"You want to get to him? You've got to go through me." The guards stepped forward threateningly. "Wow, they are probably going to get through me," his friend said, bravado slipping.

When one of the guards tried to grab Tommy by the shoulder, all hell broke loose.

His friend reacted with a right hook, sending the guard scrambling backward.

Oliver lost track of him after that, focusing on the two guards flanking him. He stepped to the side of one of their punches, making sure to slow down his reaction time so it looked like he was struggling. Elbowing the man in the back of the neck, he knew the man behind him was about to hit him. Instead of defending himself, he allowed the guard to punch him in the back. Falling forward, he gritted his teeth as the two men delivered kicks to his ribs.

When he heard Fuller grunt in surprise, he grinned to himself. _Thank you, Laurel._

"So is this over, Max?" mocked Laurel. "Or are you going to have your boys pound on me next?"

Fuller staggered to his feet, backing up slightly. "You three consider yourselves banned for life. Get the hell out of my place!"

Tommy hobbled forward, shouting after Fuller's retreating form. "Your club sucks anyway!"

"You guys okay?" asked Laurel, approaching them.

"Just peachy," grunted Tommy, one arm wrapped around his stomach.

"I think so, thank you," said Oliver.

She nodded, turning to walk away.

"Laurel," he began. "What Thea said-"

She turned around, glaring at him. "Oliver, Tommy and I don't need your blessing. And I don't need your forgiveness."

* * *

Oliver fake-limped behind Diggle as his security guard opened the door to Big Belly Burger for him and Tommy.

"Why don't you guys take a seat, and I will grab a couple of burgers and some ice for those faces," said Diggle, waving to an African-American waitress whose black hair was tied into a ponytail.

"Oh," whispered Tommy, "she's pretty cute."

Diggle glanced at him, a deadly expression on his face. "That's my sister-in-law."

Tommy's face took on an 'oh shit' look that had Oliver grinning slightly. "Who I will never speak to…or look at. Ever." He pointed toward the booths. "Gonna grab a seat."

"She's not wearing a wedding ring," commented Oliver. "Brother out of the picture?"

"Yeah," sighed Diggle, "you could say that."

As he watched his bodyguard walk away, he felt even worse than before.

 _Not only did what Thea and Laurel said make me feel worthless, I just reminded Diggle of a probably deceased relative. Nice going, Queen._

Breathing deeply, he trudged over to where Tommy sat and plopped down across from his friend.

"Look man…about Laurel. I was going to tell you. I was just trying to figure out the right way," said Tommy, shifting in his seat.

"To tell somebody that you slept with their girlfriend after they went missing and were then presumed dead." Remembering that he shouldn't be one to talk, he put on a fake smile. "What, there's no greeting card for that?"

His friend laughed nervously. "Look, it was wrong. And I'm sorry-"

"Tommy. I was dead."

"No, man, you were with Laurel. And whether you were dead, or as it turns out, alive on a deserted island, you are my friend. And me sleeping with Laurel violated that friendship in about fifty different ways."

"Thank you. But it's okay," he insisted.

It was okay. He deserved it after putting Laurel through the exact same thing when he brought Sara on the Queen's Gambit with him. However, that didn't mean it didn't hurt. When he had gotten back, he had been hoping to be friends with Laurel at the very least. What he had been wishing for the most was that Laurel would be willing to try for a relationship, which obviously wasn't going to happen.

Tommy frowned. "You are being really chill about this. I-"

He was cut off when Oliver's phone started ringing. Sending an apologetic glance at his friend, he answered the call.

"Hello?" After listening for several seconds, he lowered the phone and turned to Tommy. "It's a Russian model calling me. Can I have a minute, please?"

Tommy snorted, rising from his seat. "I can see now why you were able to be so chill. Enjoy."

After deeming his friend a far enough distance away, he brought the phone back to his ear. "So I checked out?"

"Yes, you and your friend. The man you are searching for, his name is Floyd Lawton. I have address. Where he stayed last time he was in Starling City. But that is all," informed Alexi.

"Let's hope he's a creature of habit. Go."

"1700 Broadway Papelton Room 52. You will leave us out of this, yes? Assuming Mr. Lawton doesn't kill you first."

He hung up the phone.

* * *

Oliver approached the wooden door, standing perfectly still and listening for any movement. Hearing none, he breathed deeply before bursting into the room. He came face-to-face with a Caucasian with slick brown hair and a brown leather jacket.

He fired an arrow, which his opponent dodged by taking cover on the other side of the bed in the corner of the room. The man lifted his arm to reveal a wrist-mounted gun, which opened fire on him. Grunting, he exited the room and pressed himself flat against the wall. _Shit, shit, shit._ When the sound of bullets stopped, he spun into the doorway and released an arrow.

Lifting the bed, his opponent managed to block the shot before raising his arm and firing again. Oliver pushed himself up against the wall once more. Before he could do anything else, he heard the window break open. _Dammit!_ Sprinting into the room, he found it empty. He looked out the window to find that his target was nowhere to be seen.

Growling, he saw a laptop on a nightstand.

He closed the lid, picked it up, and exited the room.

* * *

"Grant, you want a job?" asked Oliver, walking into the Foundry.

The man in question raised an eyebrow, staring at the bullet-riddled laptop that Oliver held. "What's with the laptop?"

"I'll tell you on the way to Queen Consolidated. Do you want a job?"

Thinking over it, he realized that maybe having a job would be a good idea. It would definitely help with his community presence at the very least. And since taking down criminals was mainly a nighttime activity, he had a lot of downtime. "Sure, why the hell not?"

* * *

Grant, in a black wrinkle-less business suit, stepped into Queen Consolidated's Information Technology department after Oliver. The only other person in the room was a petite blonde in a pink button-up shirt.

Oliver cleared his throat. "Felicity Smoak?"

The woman turned around, startled, and removed a red pen from her mouth.

"Hi. I'm Oliver Queen," said Oliver, introducing himself.

Grant stayed back, observing the conversation from a short distance away.

"Of course," she said, smiling. "I know who you are. You're Mr. Queen."

"No," his friend said, shaking his head. "Mr. Queen was my father."

"Right but he's dead. I mean, he drowned." Grant cringed in the background. _Nice going, Smoak._ "But you didn't, which means you could come down to the IT department and listen to me babble. Which will end in three, two, one."

Oliver smiled, holding up the computer in his hands. "I'm having some trouble with my computer and they told me that you were the person to come and see." He placed the laptop on her desk. "I was at my, uh, coffee shop surfing the web and I spilt a latte on it."

"Really?" questioned a disbelieving Felicity.

"Yeah."

"Because these look like bullet holes," she pointed out.

In the background, Grant suppressed a snort.

"My coffee shop is in a bad neighborhood."

' _My coffee shop is in a bad neighborhood'? Seriously, Oliver?_

"If there is anything you can salvage from it," continued his friend, "I would really appreciate it."

* * *

Grant watched from behind Oliver and Felicity as the blonde woman typed on her computer.

"Looks like blueprints," she commented, pulling up building plans.

"Do you know what of?" asked Oliver, leaning forward to get a better look.

"The exchange building."

"Never heard of it."

"It's where the Unidac Industry's auction is scheduled to take place. I thought you said this was your laptop."

 _What the hell is going on?_

"Yes," confirmed his friend. "It's mine."

"Look, I don't want to get in the middle of some Shakespearean family drama thing," muttered Felicity.

Oliver looked bewildered. "What?"

"Mr. Steele marrying your mom. Claudius, Gertrude…Hamlet?"

"I didn't study Shakespeare at any of the four schools that I dropped out of." He turned to Grant. "Tony, what about you?"

Grant shook his head. "I learned a bit about Shakespeare but it never seemed important. I can't remember it."

Felicity sighed, launching into an explanation. "Mr. Steele is trying to buy Unidac Industries. And you've got a company laptop associated with one of the guys he's competing against."

"Floyd Lawton," said Oliver.

"No. Warren Patel. Who's Floyd Lawton?"

"He is…an employee of Mr. Patel, evidently." Oliver stood up. "I have somewhere to be, but first I'd like to introduce you to Tony Masters. When he's not with me, he'll be running security in this area of the building."

Grant extended a hand, which Felicity shook.

"Sir, are you sure you'll be okay without me?"

Oliver sent him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about me."

His friend exited the room, leaving Grant to take up a position against the wall and Felicity to return to her work.

 _Okay, so now we know that this Floyd Lawton guy is working for a Mr. Patel. That means he's going to be targeting someone at the exchange building. There's no way Oliver and I can cover that much ground by ourselves._

"So," mumbled Felicity, breaking him from his thoughts. "What's your secret?"

"What?" he asked, startled.

 _Is she suspicious of me? Did she figure me out? Does she work for an organization? Do I need to kill her?_

She gestured vaguely in his direction, turning fully to face him. "You're all muscly and stuff. How'd you do it? I mean, I tried yoga once but I pulled a hamstring."

Inwardly, he sighed in relief. _She's a friendly, no need to harm her._ He smiled genuinely. "Ms. Smoak, I think we are going to get along quite nicely."

* * *

Oliver grabbed Detective Lance from behind, shoving him into the hood of a car and positioning his arm so he could break it at a moment's notice.

"Ah," groaned Lance. "You son of a bitch!"

"Detective, quiet," hissed Oliver.

"You've got a pair on you, pulling this right outside the police station!"

Calmly, Oliver held Lance in position as he struggled against his firm grip. "Floyd Lawton's the one targeting the buyers interested in Unidac Industries. Interpol calls him 'Deadshot' because he never misses. You can look this up after I go."

"Yeah, and stop chasing you, I suppose?"

"Warren Patel hired Lawton," informed Oliver. "I can't be sure who they're targeting. It might be all of the buyers, and I can't protect them in a space that big. I need your help."

Lance snorted against the hood of the car. "Yeah? Professional help."

"Lawton laces his bullets with curare. Tell your men to wear Kevlar."

With that, Oliver pushed Lance forward and disappeared.

* * *

"Well, it's quite a turn out, huh?" observed Moira, who wore a knee-length black dress.

Walter, in a business suit, smiled and put an arm around her. "It's quite an opportunity, actually. But regardless of the outcome of the auction, I'm already a winner because I have the two most beautiful women at my side tonight."

"Two?" questioned Moira.

"Mm-hmm," said Walter, nodding to Thea, who walked up behind Moira in a sleeveless blue dress. "Thanks for coming, Thea. It means a lot to your mother. And me."

Moira smiled, enveloping her daughter in a hug.

"Mr. Steele," called a woman with a clipboard. "The auction will be opening in five minutes. Please make sure your bid is ready."

"Thank you, Gina."

* * *

"Shall we?" smirked Detective Lance.

"We shall," said Lucas Hilton, descending the wide staircase that led to the entry room. He approached a businessman with graying hair. "Warren Patel, I'm going to need you to come with me, sir."

* * *

"Unit one, all clear. Unit two, you copy?"

"We have Patel in custody. Still no sign of Lawton."

"Unit three?"

"I'm at the northwest perimeter. All clear."

"Unit four?"

"Parking structure is clear."

"Unit five, what's your status?"

Deadshot smirked, picking up the radio. "This is unit five. All clear."

* * *

Oliver groaned inwardly as Detective Lance stopped him in his tracks.

"Well, don't you scrub up nice?" mocked Quentin.

"Here to support my family."

"Yeah, me too, God help me," muttered Lance.

"Thank you," said Oliver sincerely.

Quentin scoffed before walking away.

Turning around, Oliver made his way over to his bodyguard, who stood at attention and observed the room and its occupants.

"Digg, got your eyes open?"

"That's what I'm here for, sir," replied Diggle with a straight face. "That and answering patronizing questions."

"This guy's out of time," whispered Oliver to himself. "If he's going to do something, it's going to happen before the auction."

"Sir?" asked Diggle, raising an eyebrow.

 _Shit, watch yourself._ "I, uh, heard a story on the radio."

"Oliver," called Walter.

Thankful for the distraction, he walked toward his stepfather.

"So pleased you were able to attend," said the Brit.

"Walter, the police said that some of the Unidac bidders were murdered. I just think that we should be a little bit more careful. My mother's already lost one husband."

"Well, if Moira shared your concern, she wouldn't have come. And she definitely wouldn't have convinced your sister to come either."

 _Fuck, this isn't good._

Making his way over to his mother and sister, he gestured for Diggle, who nodded and started walking over.

"Hi. Oliver, what a wonderful surprise," said his mom.

Ignoring her, he spoke to Diggle. "I need you to get them out of here right now."

* * *

Quentin Lance tapped his foot in impatience.

He loved his job, sure, but he did not like having to be around anyone in the Queen family. Turning to glance at Walter Steele, his eyes went wide when he saw a red dot on the man's chest. He sprinted as fast as he could, tackling the man to the ground as a bullet embedded itself in the wall behind where Walter was standing moments ago.

* * *

Ducking, Diggle wrapped himself protectively around Moira.

Oliver pushed Thea to the side. "Are you okay?" he asked his sister. When she nodded, he turned to his mom. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine," she breathed, panicked. "Where's Walter?"

Glancing to where he had left his stepfather moments before, he saw Detective Lance pushing him toward an exit alongside a large crowd of people.

"Walter's fine."

"Sir," said Diggle. "I have to get you out here."

"No!" shouted Oliver. "Them!"

Before anyone could say another word, he sprinted toward a staircase.

Pausing by a trash can, he pulled off the lid and opened the bag he had stashed there.

* * *

"Shit, are we too late?" asked Clint as they entered the parking garage.

"Well, we aren't early. But I don't think we're too late. Come on, the shots were fired from a few floors up," said Natasha.

* * *

Pulling himself up using a grappling arrow, Oliver nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a second arrow connect with the building. He turned around to see Grant pull himself up.

"I thought you were with Felicity," commented Oliver.

Grant turned to face him, almost invisible in his Taskmaster uniform. "You really need to pay more attention to the workings of your company. My shift ended thirty minutes ago."

Oliver grinned slightly. "Up for kicking some ass?"

"Why the hell do you think I showed up?"

Together, they vaulted upward and entered the upper levels of the parking lot structure.

Landing on their feet, they immediately dove to cover as Deadshot opened fire with his wrist-mounted gun.

* * *

"We have a slight problem," growled Grant, firing off an arrow in Deadshot's direction.

"What's that?" hissed Oliver.

"Them," he said, nudging his head in the direction of the doorway, where Clint and Natasha stood.

He knew it was only a matter of time before they found him, especially because he had really only done a half-assed job of concealing his identity. _Well, that and the fact that you also dress up as a hooded vigilante and take out criminals._ S.H.I.E.L.D. would see them as possible recruits and attempt to take them in for questioning. He was willing to bet that was why his former supervising officers were attempting to confront them.

"Go!" shouted Oliver over the sound of machine gun fire. "You take care of them and I'll take care of Deadshot!"

Nodding, he took a deep breath before leaping over his cover and jumping out of the building. He turned in mid-air, firing a grappling arrow and swinging into a lower section of the building. He rolled to his feet and glanced up, finding Clint and Natasha already waiting for him.

Clint moved forward, fingers wrapped cautiously around an arrow. "Lower the bow, remove the mask, take off the hood, and put your hands up. We're taking you in."

 _I'm sorry, Clint. But that's not going to happen. I can't go back. Not when I have a chance at rebuilding a life here, away from Skye and the others. Not when I have a chance at finally being happy again._

"That's not going to happen," he growled. "Back off and nobody has to get hurt."

"I'm afraid we can't do that," said Natasha, stepping forward.

"Then I'm afraid we'll have to take you out," said a familiar voice.

 _Wait a minute…Sara?_

The blonde walked forward in her black leather catsuit, taking up a stance next to him.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered.

"I saw what happened on the news. Figured you could use my help."  
 _So you just reappear after leaving without an explanation?_ "We are having a very detailed conversation about this later."

"How many vigilantes are there?" groaned Clint.

"It doesn't matter. We need to take them in for questioning," stated Natasha, pulling out escrima sticks.

"Don't kill them," whispered Grant.

Without responding, Sara charged forward.

Reaching behind him, Grant pulled out a tranquilizer arrow and fired it at Clint. The other archer dodged to the side and sprinted forward. Ducking underneath the other man's hook, Grant delivered an uppercut to his stomach and followed up with an elbow to the ribs. Cursing, Clint grabbed hold of the sides of Grant's head and pulled him down. He struggled against the tight grip as his mentor kneed him several times in the chest.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself forward and wrapped his arms around Clint's waist. Staggering forward, he shoved the older man against a wall before picking him up in an attempt to throw him to the ground. In mid-air, Clint managed to reverse his position, using his weight and momentum to slam Grant into the ground instead. He grunted as pain exploded throughout his body, vision blurring slightly. His former supervising officer continued to pound into his ribs and Grant was sure he would pass out at any second.

Desperately, he reached toward his lower left leg, searching for the miniature quiver that contained several trick arrows and darts. When he felt his fingers graze a tranquilizer dart, he renewed his efforts. Grasping the dart, he removed it from its sheathe and shoved it into Clint's shoulder. After several seconds of grunting, the man on top of him went limp.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he unceremoniously pushed the body off of him and stood up shakily. Turning, he saw Sara and Natasha still focused and engaged in combat. When Sara kicked Natasha away, he used it as an opportunity and fired a flash-bang arrow at the redheaded assassin, blinding her momentarily.

"Come on! Let's go!" he shouted.

* * *

When they got to the Foundry, Grant was surprised to find Diggle stalking off.

"What…happened?" asked Grant, putting down his bow.

"Before I killed Deadshot, he got a shot off on Diggle. I took him down here so I could give him the medicine to counteract the effects of the curare. When he woke up, I asked him to join us. What you saw was his response." Oliver turned around, eyes widening when he saw Sara. "Sara?"

"Hey," she said, smiling.

Grant walked away abruptly, making his way toward the exit of their lair.

"Hey! Where are you going?" called Oliver after his retreating form.

"There's something I have to do."

 _I need to show Clint, Natasha, and the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. that I'm not coming back._

* * *

"Guys," shouted Fitz, running into the kitchen.

The team glanced up from their breakfast.

"What is it, Fitz?" asked Coulson, standing up hurriedly.

"There's something you need to see."

* * *

Coulson's team plus Steve, Tony, and Bruce stood in the living room, watching the flat-screen television with wide eyes. What looked to be a very important press conference had been called, hundreds of people filling the audience. The camera panned to the speaker, a blonde man in a business suit who kept his head down.

"Some of you may know me as Tony Masters, while most of you probably don't know me at all. But I have gathered you all here today to say that…my name, in fact, is not Tony Masters. Many of you knew my father, whether it be personally or from newspapers and interviews. He was a wealthy businessman but a terrible parent. He was killed on his way to a court hearing by the same man who attacked Unidac Industries." The man raised his head, staring straight into the cameras. "For those of you who haven't guessed, my name is Grant Ward."

At that moment, the onscreen crowd exploded in an uproar of questions and incoherent shouting.

* * *

That night found Oliver and Sara by themselves in the Queen Mansion, rain pouring heavily outside.

Oliver leaned back against his bed, observing the blonde who stood across from him. She was in a blue long-sleeved t-shirt and black jeans, arms crossed over her chest.

"Why are you here, Sara?" questioned Oliver. "Why…why do you keep showing up if you're just going to disappear again?"

"I-I want to come back. I'm just scared, Ollie."

"Of what?" he asked. "There's nothing to be afraid of Sara."

"Of how everyone's going to react. I can't get a read on Grant. I can't tell how he feels. I mean, one second he seems happy and the next he's moody. Can you imagine what my father will be like? He might hit the bottle harder than before. Or-or, what about Laurel? She's going to hate me for putting her through everything that I did. How can she ever forgive me, Ollie? Not only did I sleep with you multiple times, I went on that boat with you. She thought I was dead. What will she do when she finds out that I wasn't?"

"Sara, I think she'll be happy to see you," reassured Oliver.

She snorted. "How do you know?"

"Because you're her sister. And she only gets one."

"It's just, what if everything goes wrong and no one wants me back? What if it turns out everyone hates me now?"

"Not everyone," whispered Oliver.

Their eyes locked and he watched her expression slowly begin to soften.

He didn't know what possessed him to do so, but he moved forward and pressed his lips against hers. Almost immediately, she kissed him back. Grabbing her by the waist, he pushed her gently against the wall, deepening the kiss. Oliver reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head. As they moved across the room, the rest of their clothing was thrown to the floor. Sara wrapped her legs around his waist as he picked her up and gently laid her on the bed.

* * *

Grant stood frozen in the heavy rain as he watched the scene unfold through Oliver's open window. Blinking several times, he turned around and pulled his black hoodie up.

As he walked away from the mansion, hands in his pockets, the downpour chilled him to the bone.


End file.
